Somebody I Used To Know
by SisterDramamine
Summary: When Dean learns of a friend's death, he experiences a series of flash backs that revolve around the hunter he once knew. As parts of Dean's past are slowly revealed, he and Sam embark on an unusual case; helping the ghost of his friend move on. What history does he share with the woman? Can they find a way to help her move on? And, more importantly, can Dean let her go?
1. Another One Bites The Dust

**Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural. I am, sadly, in no way, shape or form affiliated with the television show, actors or network. The following words were written as a form of cheep entertainment for fans like myself who can't get enough of the show/haven't found a way to inject/smoke/snort it. I don't profit off of it, yada yada yada**

**Set early Season 2 from Dean's POV. Contains an OC, but mostly SPN characters. Also flashbacks. Rated for swears and occasional tobacco use. I didn't think I included too many swears to warrant an R, but if you're offended by the "f" word, it does pop up a few times in a few chapters, so maybe set the curse word censor (that's still an option, right?)  
**

**I hope this is enjoyed (as I do with all of my stories). Reviews. I love them but they're always optional, so do as you please. **

**2006**

There's this really cool chick I know. She's pretty badass but compassionate, indescribably unique and a little eccentric, sharp as a whistle and just as attractive. She's very much at home in the world of the weird and is a walking encyclopedia on the subject. She's also apparently dead, according to Bobby.

I'm driving the open roads that cut through wide fields of tall growing corn under a midday Iowan sun when the call comes.

"I'm real sorry to tell ya this," Bobby speaks over the phone, a mild hesitance in his voice. "All things considered. But Sterling... aw, shucks Dean. Sterling's dead."

There go the last remaining pieces of my already shattered heart. Dad's dead, the Colt is gone, Yellow Eyes is on the loose, the Impala is in ruins and now this? It's been a terrible month for me.

"Another one bites the dust, huh?" I choke down the rising sorrow from my voice as I speak into my chrome colored phone. "How'd she go?"

"Car wreck," Bobby sighs and my stomach twists.

The only thing this girl was really afraid of was dying a normal death. As weird as it sounds, she was looking forward to having her guts ripped out or her head torn off by some vile creature. I'm not joking. And she died in a car accident.

Whenever someone I know passes, I'm always thrown into flashback mode and Sterling's death is no exception. The particular memory that floods my mind is of the last time I saw her. It was a little more than a year ago, just days before I picked Sammy up from college, outside some thick forest along the side of a desolate highway. We had just taken care of a nasty werewolf problem and she stood before me covered in dirt, scratches and blood. And she couldn't look any happier.

I watched her light a victory cigarette with a silver zippo she had extracted from a pair of slim fitting black jeans, torn at the knees.

"That son of a bitch put up one hell of a fight," she commentated, wiping a bloodied silver blade on her blue plaid shirt, left unbuttoned to expose a black AC/DC t-shirt.

"No kidding," I agreed as I put my own weapons away in the trunk of my Impala. "It's a good thing we ran into each other."

"You can say that again," her full, brick red lips spoke around the cigarette.

"You know those things are gonna kill you one of these days," I casually informed her, motioning towards the cigarette and she rolled her large, round azure eyes.

"You and I both know I'm not gonna live long enough for that to happen," she responded with a bright smile plastered across her small, round face. I smiled at her comment, knowing she was probably right. Then again, she was one damn good hunter and, at that moment, I thought she would be one of the few to make it to old age before something finally got her.

"Where are you headed next?" I questioned, watching as she ran her fingers through her long, thick blonde streaked black hair.

"The bar," she told me with a small chuckle. "We'll see where that takes me. You should come with. We could pool shark some bikers out of their drug money."

"Naw," is what I told her. "I need a shower and some shut eye before I go see Sammy."

"Your loss," she said with a shrug. "I'll keep an ear out for news on your dad."

"Thanks," I said as she approached me for a quick, friendly embrace. "You take care of yourself."

"You too," she said as she pulled away. "Don't be a stranger."

"Yeah," I had agreed. "Keep in touch."

So, of course, we never did. I called her once, maybe twice since Sam returned to the hunter's life to ask her advice on a tricky case, but that was it. I guess I assumed she'd just always be there. I never even got to tell her...

"You still there?" Bobby's voice snaps me back to the present.

"Yeah, sorry," I mumble. "I was just... ugh, that sucks."

"Tell me about it," he agrees. "She was one hell of a hunter."

"Yeah. When'd she pass?"

"About three months ago," Bobby tells me. "No one knew until yesterday. We all thought she'd just fallen off the radar for a while."

"How'd you find out?" I ask.

"Hunter named Taylor got a flat just yesterday. When he pulled over to change it, he noticed her license plate all burned and crumpled up in the ditch. So he looked into it and, sure enough, discovered a '68 Mustang collided with an oil truck in that spot three months back. They could see the explosion ten miles off."

Oh good. It wasn't just a car accident, it was a flaming wreck.

And then that thing happens. That thing where you see someone who's just died in a random place. She's standing on the side of the road in a pair of torn, dark denim jeans, an unbuttoned red plaid shirt over a black Iron Maiden t-shirt and combat boots. Her giant, azure eyes stare at me while her black and blonde hair rustles in the breeze my temporary vehicle - a burgundy, 1989 Oldsmobile '88 - creates as it speeds by. When I blink, she's gone.

In my line of work, that can mean one of two things. Either I just saw the ghost of one Sterling Powers, a.k.a. "The Professor", or I'm cracking up.

"Say, Bobby," I shake my head, glancing back a few times in the rearview mirror. "You wouldn't happen to know where this happened would you?"

"Montana," Bobby says. "Somewhere along Highway 2. Why do you ask?"

"Just curious," I shake my head.

Cracking up it is then. Even if she is a ghost, which seems unlikely given her fiery demise, she'd be in Montana or possibly even Michigan where she grew up. Not Iowa.

"Thanks for letting me know about the Professor," I say with a small sigh. "I'll talk to you later."

When I end the unpleasant phone call, I can't ignore the questioning stares Sammy sends me from the passenger's seat.

"What was that about?" he doesn't even wait for me to re-pocket my phone.

"A hunter named Sterling," I fill him in, my eyes on the road but my mind far from it. "She died."

"I take it you knew her?" Sam assumes and I nod.

"I worked a few cases with her when you were off doing the whole college thing," I share.

"Why'd you call her the Professor?" he's curious about her nickname.

"She was a lot like Bobby," I try to explain it. "In a much younger and attractive package."

"Were you two, you know, close?" he asks in a suggestive tone.

"Not like that," I roll my eyes, attempting to hide the disappointment I'll always feel for that small fact. "She was just one of those people you could go a year without talking to and, when you finally see each other again, it's like nothing's changed. You just pick up where you left off."

Sammy doesn't need to know about the giant crush I've harbored for her for the past few years. It doesn't really matter anymore. Besides, it'd just be something else he'd want to talk about and, honestly, I don't really feel like talking about any of it right now.

"You're telling me you had a friend?" Sam seems genuinely amused at the thought of me having not just a friend but a mostly platonic female one. "How did you even meet her?"

"Believe it or not," I vividly recall. "I met her in high school."

"High school?" Sam echoes, now more entertained than before. "Don't you have to attend high school to meet people there?"

"Ha ha," I dryly spit the sarcastic words. "She was in my class when we were staying in northern Michigan."

"I think I remember that," my brother slowly begins to recall the specific "incident" I'm referencing. "Dad dropped us off and you ended up digging up a windego case you tried to take care of yourself. Almost got that poor girl killed going after it, right?"

"First of all," I swing in with a defensive tone. "She wasn't a poor girl. She was fully aware of what she was walking into. Second of all, we had it under control. No one was gonna die that day. Dad didn't even show up until the thing was on fire." I pause to let out a saddened sigh. "That 'poor girl' was Sterling, by the way."

"I'm sorry," Sam offers a quiet condolence. "What was she like?"

"Look," I say, my eyes between the road before me and my brother next to me. "I know what you're trying to do and I appreciate it. Really, I do. I just don't really want to talk about it right now."

"Okay," Sam backs off his game of twenty questions. "If you ever want to talk about it..."

"I'll let you know," I finish for him. "Thanks, Dr. Phil."

I attempt to focus my eyes upon the clear horizons as my foot leans heavily upon the gas and my fingers crank up the volume to a Motörhead song. My mind begins to fog over with a rush of vivid memories I almost forgot I had as a subtle hint of regret settles deeper within my gut. I should have called her more often. Maybe if I called her more, she'd still be alive.


	2. Professor Frankenstein, A Born Natural

**1996**

The first time we met, she almost kicked my ass. I've never actually told any one that, mostly because it's pretty embarrassing to admit I almost got beat up by a girl. I'm just trying to paint you a picture of how tough this girl was from the get go.

I should probably back up a bit.

I first met her in some small high school in some small village in the middle of nowhere, northern Michigan after dad dropped Sammy and me off to take care of a few cases throughout the state. Being the new kid in a class with hardly more than fifty people, you kind of stick out like a sore thumb, but some how she stuck out more. It could have been the plaid pants with a multitude of random zippers and safety pins attached here and there. Maybe it was the studded bracelets, the black combat boots, the chains or possibly the piercings. It was probably the tall green mohawk that did it.

She was the Lone Wolf of the class, the kid nobody messed with but still had enough courage to talk about when she was out of ear shot. Everyone called her Professor Frankenstein and everybody had a horror story attached to an encounter with her. She supposedly gave a cheerleader an old fashioned swirly, gave a band geek a concussion, and kicked a goth kid between the legs so hard he's now called "Uno". Get it?

And those were just a few of the stories the kids liked to spread around. Their warnings against approaching her were worse. Even the goth kids watched her through wary eyes.

So I avoided her as much as I could. I flirted with the cheerleaders, make jokes with a few jocks and smoked weed in the baseball dugout with the skaters. She was the last person I met and it took me a good three days to get there. I don't scare easily, but this girl scared the shit out of me. Sure I had at least 30 pounds of muscle and a good three or four inches on her. In a fair fight, I'd have a good chance, but I had her pegged as a dirty fighter. I wouldn't have been surprised if she carried a switch blade in her pocket.

Honestly, I probably wouldn't have even bothered with her at all had I not passed her in the hall one day and noticed the single piece of paper that fluttered from her black binder to the floor. This piece of paper had a sketch on it, and a really good one at that. Had it been of anything else in the world, I would have left it there and kept on walking. What really drew me to this picture wasn't the quality of the sketch, but what it was of. On the page I slowly picked up in gray, black and white was a fairly accurate and detailed drawing of a female werewolf bearing her fangs under a full moon.

I studied it for a moment in an awe filled silence. Back then and still to this day, people imagine werewolves as a hairy cross between a man and a wolf. I knew enough about monsters at that point to know what they really looked like and the fact she seemed tuned into this told me she was a hunter. At least, that's what I assumed, so I chased after her.

"Hey, Silver!" I called as I quickly approached her, temporarily abandoning my hesitations towards her outward appearance for the excitement at the possibility I'd just found one of my own.

And then she reminded me why I had avidly avoided her in the first place. Before I could blink she had a handful of my black t-shirt clutched tightly in her fist and my back was being forcefully thrust against a red painted locker door.

"Don't call me that," she growled at me in a low tone as she stared me down through narrowed eyes.

For a fleeting moment I found myself thinking, _'maybe she knows what werewolves look like because __**she's**__ a werewolf'_ while I pondered what was wrong with calling her Silver. Wasn't that what the teacher called her in Chem? Silver Powers?

As she watched me with an annoyed expression laced in her eyes, it dawned on me I had called her the wrong name. _Sterling_, not Silver. An easy mistake, really. Maybe too easy. The way she glared at me, I realized I was far from the first person to have called her that.

"S-sorry," I stammered apologetically, praying to the god I didn't believe in she wouldn't stab me. "My mistake. I didn't mean to call you that."

I wondered, while she held me pinned to the lockers with a strong arm, if she knew the name the kids called her when her back was turned?

"What do you want?" she snarled at me when I didn't immediately begin explaining myself.

I didn't speak. Rather, I couldn't. Let's just say it's a good thing I had peed before our encounter.

I silently held up the picture for her to see and, as I did so, her expression gradually began to soften, but only a bit.

"Thanks," she grumbled, plucking the paper from my hand before letting me go. She turned on a quick heel to swiftly walk away, but I chased after her. I had to know what she was; hunter or wolf.

"Hey, wait!" I called after her once I found my voice, darting through the crowd of kids that wandered the halls.

"Don't do it," she warned me, not bothering to turn her head and look at me as she spoke.

"Uh, do what?" I questioned as I caught up to her.

"You're about to commit social suicide," she told me flatly, shoving her sketch back into her binder as we walked. "You want this year to go smoothly for yourself, you're going to want to stop here and turn right back around."

I faltered at her words. It was true. Being seen willingly socializing with her would indeed ruin any credibility to my name in this school. I briefly weighted my options as I slowly continued to follow her. Stay and chat, I'd sacrifice my chances of making out with the head cheerleader in the janitor's closet later. Take off and I'd never discover who or what she was.

"I won't be here long enough for that to matter," I finally told her, my interests in her surpassing my interests in the head cheerleader just enough to give up any potential popularity.

"Your funeral," she shrugged, clearly caring little for my decision.

"I'm Dean, by the way," I introduced myself as she continued her way through the halls.

"Yeah, I know," she informed me with a cool tone. "I sit behind you in History. And Chemistry. And English. And Economics."

"Er, yeah," I coughed. "Anyway, Sterling, did you draw that? It's pretty good."

"Uh, yeah," she spoke, her pace slowing some at the unexpected compliment. "Thanks."

"That's a vampire, right?" I played dumb to the supernatural world, a question that prompted her azure eyes - which were outlined in thick, black eyeliner - to give an annoyed roll.

"It's a werewolf," she told me.

"Aren't werewolves supposed to be hairy?" I continued my subtle test, something that prompted a very small smile to form at the corner of her full, defined lips.

"You know why everyone calls me Professor Frankenstein?" she answered my question with another question. I supplied a response with a simple shrug. I wasn't about to admit I figured it was due to her crazy style and hostile demeanor.

"I'm a walking encyclopedia of really useless shit," she informed me in her cool tone. "More specifically Demonology and Monsterology."

"Oh?" I continued to follow her. "How come?"

"We all have our hobbies," she told me. "Mine just involves in depth knowledge on creatures that don't exist."

I studied her sincerity for a moment. Did she really believe this stuff was all made up, or was she just playing the same "dumb" card I was?

"I'm kind of into that junk myself," I told her at last.

For the first time during our entire conversation, she actually looked at me. For a silent minuet we studied each other, attempting to determine each others sincerity. When at last she opened her lips to speak, her words were cut off by the sharp bell that rang through the halls.

"I guess I'll catch you later," I told her as I began to wander off in my own direction, leaving her somewhat stupefied.

Over the next few days, I managed to crack open the hardened shell that was Professor Frankenstein. My initial intentions were pretty simple - find out what this girl was - but as she gradually allowed me to see small pieces of her, I actually found a real friendship with her. Emotionally I found her to be a lot like me; closed off and unavailable. But the fact I spoke to her in a voice that wasn't patronizing or filled with fear and genuinely listened to her caused her to reveal more of herself to me than she'd allowed anyone to see in what had to be years.

As her mystery unraveled, she became a lot less scary. I found the human being under that mess of plaid, safety pins and studded leather. She still seemed tough and mostly fearless but, despite her obvious strength and bad ass attitude, I knew she feared something. I couldn't put my finger on it, but whatever it was assured me she was no monster.

Something else I discovered about her, beyond her humanity, was that her title of Professor was well deserved. She knew everything there was to know about every monster, god and demon that's ever been written about. And she thought it was all fake. Which was weird and somewhat unbelievable when she told me about her hobbies outside studying the supernatural. She was a black belt in karate, something she'd been doing way longer than she'd studied monsters. She went deer hunting with her uncle every fall, a tradition upheld with bows and guns alike since she was eleven. She had a collection of throwing knives she'd been practicing with for three years and had been avidly kickboxing for a year and a half without plans of stopping.

"I'm thinking about getting a hand gun," she told me once. "Knife throwing is getting kind of boring. I mean, I'm not perfect at it, but it's getting a little too easy to hit a bullseye if you know what I mean."

So it was hard for me to believe she wasn't already a hunter. In fact, I casually assumed she was just really good at pretending her family wasn't in the business until I met her dad, who taught human anatomy at the community college the next town over. Nothing about him indicated he even remotely believed in ghosts, let alone went after them in his free time.

After I met him, I found myself struggling to keep the family secret. Dad always said to keep quiet about who we are, what we do and the things that really exist. And I'd always respected that rule and, above all, dad. But Sterling was different. Not only was she proficient in the lore behind the creatures we hunted, she was a skilled fighter. She was a hunter in training and she didn't even know it. And I desperately wanted to be the one to tell her.

To be perfectly honest, it wasn't just the fact I was convinced she would make an excellent hunter that made me want to inform her of my world, the gruesomely real world. I gave up all social credibility to get to know this girl who turned out to be just a weirdo. A really cool weirdo, but a strange person none the less and I craved some kind of compensation for my sacrificed popularity.

A few weeks drew by and I did a decent job of keeping my mouth shut. Just when I decided having an actual friend was compensation enough, something strange surfaced. My kind of strange. Some kids on our class went missing, but their car was found in the lot at the nearby state park. What made this my kind of strange was the fact that five others had gone missing since that spring. It was almost six, but that guy they found torn to shreds near a hiking trailhead.

The local legend was of a "wolf man" and it was all the kids would talk about at school the next day. Everyone but Sterling. Even when I brought it up, she didn't seem interested in the tale.

"It's a bunch of bull shit," she told me when I asked her about it at lunch that day.

"I'd like to hear it anyway," I tried to coax her into sharing it with me anyway. From the sounds of things, there was a case nearby and I was determined to uncover it.

"It's the story of a native shaman," she began. "He prayed to the great spirit to give him the strength to conquer the men who threatened his land. The Great Spirit took pity on the shaman and his people and granted the magician wolf like powers that would be revealed under the light of the full moon. Since then, they say that every full moon the wolf man comes out to savagely deal with trespassers."

"It's a werewolf story," I stated.

"It's bullshit is what it is," she almost spat. "First of all, it's not actually a native legend. Some racist settlers made it up to scare their kids from hanging out with the natives. Second, being a werewolf is more of a curse than a blessing. If a shaman's turning into something, it's a shape shifter or a skin walker."

The term skin walker grabbed my attention and sent me into a state of thought. It sounded more accurate than the wolf theory. The lunar cycle was all wrong for that.

"What is it then?" I questioned and she gave me a snarky smile.

"The DNR is saying it's a cougar," she replied. "Or, more likely, a rogue bear since cougar's aren't exactly prevalent around here."

"What do you say it is?" I asked and she just shrugged.

"Rogue bear," she told me with a simple but hesitant voice. "Or a psycho serial killer who's really good at covering his tacks."

"What do you _really_ think it is?" I pressed her. She cocked a brow at this.

"Hey, man," she spoke in a defensive tone. "I might be into come crazy ass shit, but I'm painfully sane. You got that?"

"I'm not saying you're crazy," I explained. "Let's say that all this shit is real. Ghosts, demons, monsters. What would be in those woods?"

Her brow remained raised but her defenses dropped into sheer amusement at the game I wanted to play.

"_If_ I didn't know any better," she slowly began in a low voice. "And _if_ these things actually existed, I'd say it was one of these."

She paused to bring forth one of the sketches she kept in her black binder, sliding it across the table for me to look at.

"Windego," I muttered, staring at the incredibly accurate picture of the creature. I should have guessed it.

"Uh, yeah," she said, tilting her head in mild confusion at my statement. "_If_ they actually existed, they would come out every 20 or so years to feed before they hibernated again."

"Has this happened before?" I questioned, my eyes glued to the picture.

"The weird part is, it has," she replied. "About 23 years ago. And again 23 before that, and 23 years before that. Basically, crap like this has been happening since the mid 1800's and that's just how far back records like that go."

"Let's say there's really a windego out there," I continued to attempt subtly gathering information. "Where would he be?"

"Why?" she eyed me with a curios suspicion. "Going windego hunting?"

"Humor me," I asked, attempting not to sound too serious. "There any caves around the park?"

"Not that I know of," she shrugged casually, though her suspicions didn't waver. "Our soil's pretty much just sand."

"You know of anywhere dark and damp a windego would hide out?" I asked as she gave me a strange look.

"You're way too into this," she told me.

"I'm just curious is all," I lied as she raised a brow once more, not buying my curiosity story at all.

"Off the top of my head, no," she shook her head at last. "I'm silently freaking out about the math test next period though, so you'd have to let me think on that."

"Do you think you could do me a favor?" I asked her and she shrugged. "You think you could figure out where in the park a windego would live?"

She didn't respond, not right away. She stared at me for a while, attempting to determine my motives and, more importantly, my sincerity.

"And they call me nuts," she spoke at last with a slow sigh. "Yeah. I'll see what I can come up with."


	3. The Family Secret, Revealed

**2006**

"Maybe I should drive for a while."

Sam's voice snaps me back to the here and now. I don't remember the last fifteen minuets of my life, I was so deep into that memory. At least the car's still on the road.

"No, I'm fine," I brush off Sammy's offer. "Just a little tired."

"It's okay to talk about it," he doesn't believe my half assed excuse for blanking out.

"There's nothing to talk about," I'm quick to tell him, trying to focus on the road before me as it leads us through the down town district of a quaint, midwestern village.

"You can't keep pretending like you're okay," Sammy goes into a Dr. Phil schpeal. "I know you're still hurting from dad. I am too. You're going to sit there and pretend like Sterling's death wasn't just a little too much for you?"

I don't respond. Mostly because he's right, but also because I swear I see Sterling standing on the sidewalk between a parked red '52 Ford pickup and a Chinese restaurant. Her azure eyes stare at me as we slowly drive by and, for a minuet, it looks like she's about to wave hello. When I blink, she's vanished into thin air.

"Tell me more about Sterling," Sam requests when I remain silent.

"Why are you so interested in her?" I ask with a slight irritation in my tone.

"Because you need to get something off your chest, Dean," he replies. "And God knows you can't just talk about your feelings." He pauses to allow his lips to curve into a tiny smile. "Besides, I'm kind of curious to hear about this friend you had."

I let out a deep, heavy groan. That's the one bad thing about being on a constant road trip with family. They always want to know how you're doing and there's no where to run when you don't feel like sharing.

"She was younger than me by exactly four days," I slowly begin to indulge my brother, my eyes never leaving the road as I speak of my lost friend. "She had great taste in music. She was always changing her hair color."

"You said she was a hunter," Sam steps in, attempting to collect my scattered memories and thoughts. "Was her family in the business?"

"No," I shook my head. "Her mom died when she was ten. Her dad taught anatomy at a community college."

"How'd she get in the life?" he wants to know and I'm not sure I want him to.

"I may or may not have said something to her about what we do," is how my response comes out, my words rolling slowly through my lips as Sam sends me a 'how could you?' stare.

"_Dean_," he hisses.

"Hey, man," I defend myself. "She wanted this life."

"So you just decided to randomly tell some girl you kind of knew about everything?" he wants to know.

"That's not exactly how it happened," I tell him.

"Well? How did it happen?"

"She was actually the one who figured out there was a windego in those woods," I inform Sam, who tilts his head and cocks a confused brow. "She didn't really think there was a windego out there, but she got pretty suspicious when I asked her to do some leg work for me."

"Which is when you filled her in?" Sam half asks, half finishes.

"More or less," is my vague response.

She really did get suspicious about the random leg work I asked from her. That's not why I told her the truth. When I did finally bring my world, the real world, to her attention, it went a little more like this...

**1996**

I couldn't reach my dad. To be honest, I wasn't even sure where he was. Sterling had yet to locate the monster's hiding spot and, as the days went on, I was beginning to get a little anxious. If she was right about what was in that forest, then we needed to get to the foul creature before it got to anyone else. Even if that meant I was the one who had to do it. Hell, I was almost excited about it. I was young, cocky and looking for a way to prove to dad that I was ready to be a hunter like him.

It was a gray Sunday afternoon when I found myself strolling up the driveway to the rustic, two story log home Sterling occupied with her father. I found her in the back yard that bordered a thick, lush forest, hurling knives at a homemade target crafted from plywood and spray paint. The way she threw these blades told me she was letting off steam, so I approached with caution.

"Hey," I called when I noticed her hands were clear of knives.

Her green mohawk bounced as her head spun around to find the source of the greeting and offered me a small smile when her eyes found me.

"Hey," she returned, her tone somewhat discouraged.

"I hate to bother you about this again," I began, watching as she collected her knives from the wooden target. "But you haven't come up with anything yet, have you?"

"Yeah, maybe," she said, slowly walking back to her shooting spot. "Sorry, I'm a little pissed off right now."

"I can tell," I said as she returned to tossing blades. "What's up?"

"Just my dad," she spoke as she practiced her aim. "He's been bitching at me about this whole college thing."

"What about it?" I asked and she sighed.

"I don't want to go," she admitted.

"And he wants you to?" I guessed and she nodded.

"He wants me to be a professor at some big university," she told me.

"What do you want to do?" I asked.

"I don't know," she shrugged. "It's just, I've never exactly been drawn to the whole nine to five thing. The get married, have kids, white picket fence stuff's not exactly up my alley."

It was then I realized what this girl was afraid of. It wasn't shadows or snakes or failure. It was normalcy. Sterling actually feared the normal, monotonous, everyday life of your average American citizen.

"Is that what this whole Sid Vicious get up is about?" I had to ask and she rolled her eyes.

"Ha ha," she spoke sarcastically, hurling another knife at the target.

"Seriously though," I continued. "If you could do anything, what would you do?"

"I want to travel," she revealed. "I want to see the country from some bad ass car or motorcycle. And I want to figure out how to make a difference."

"What do you mean?" I found her last statement to be curious.

"I'm not sure yet," she confessed. "I'm not sure how to explain it, really. I just feel like I'm supposed to help people somehow, outside the whole corporate and political machines. Like I have this grand purpose. You ever feel like that?"

"No," I shook my head. "I don't believe in fate."

"Me either," she said. "I think we're all built to do something. It's up to us to discover what it is."

It struck me just as her last blade sunk deep into the center of her makeshift target. A fleeting belief in destiny. Maybe this girl was supposed to be a hunter. She was more than half way trained, she was knowledgeable and eager for a life far away from ordinary. All she was waiting for was some one to tell her it was all real. From where I stood, I felt like that person had to be me.

"Look, Sterling," I began, not entirely sure how I would word this strange reveal. "I gotta be honest with you about something."

"What's that?" she asked, pausing in her hobby to look at me.

"You know how I told you my dad's a salesman?" I asked and she nodded. "He's not. He's a hunter."

"Oh... kay..." she was unsure what I meant.

"I hunt with him sometimes," I continued. "Ghosts. Werewolves. Zombies. They're all real, and there are people like us who stop them."

For a while, Sterling just stared at me. She couldn't tell if I was being sincere or if all our time together had been an elaborate joke at her expense.

"You're patronizing me," she accused me at last, her eyes narrowing as her words began to turn sour.

"No, I'm not," I swiftly tried to assure her. "I swear, I'm not making this up."

"Oh, good," she rolled her azure eyes. "Then you're crazy."

"Unfortunately I'm not," I informed her.

"Why are you telling me this?" she wanted to know, the brief look of anger beginning to relax.

"Because I think you could be like us," I told her honestly. "Believe me, I wouldn't be telling you if I didn't think you couldn't handle it. My dad would tear me a new one if he knew I was sharing this kind of information."

"So if I'm hearing you right," she tried to back step. "You think I've got what it takes to hunt and kill monsters, which are real."

"Yes," I confirmed.

"Which means there's really a windego in the woods," she added.

"Yes," I confirmed once again.

"Well, shit," she said. "I guess we better figure out where it is."


	4. Professor Frankenstein Vs The Windego

**1996**

I can't recall exactly who talked who into letting Sterling actually join me in the physical hunt. I don't even remember thinking, at any point, was this a bad idea. Probably because I was young, stupid and eager to prove to my dad I was ready to handle my own cases.

Either way, one thing led to another and she was picking me up from school the next morning with a trunk full of flammables. We knew we had a better chance of surviving if we hunted this thing in the daylight, so we skipped school, making our getaway in Sterling's blue '92 Saturn at top speeds to a familiar, fast paced metal tune.

"Are we seriously listening to Iron Maiden right now?" I asked her once I realized what it was.

"Yeah," she shrugged as she lit a cigarette.

"I don't know if I should high five you or kiss you right now," I said.

"And I don't know if I should laugh or slap you," she returned. "Now, let's move past the fact I'm the coolest fucking girl you'll ever meet and get back to this windego business."

"Right," I nodded. "You figure out where it might be?"

"I think so," she said. "At first I thought it was one of the old abandoned farm houses, but those were occupied until the mid 60s, early 70s. Then I remembered something came before the farmers and the loggers."

"The natives?" I guessed and she rolled her eyes.

"Between the two," she said. "Trappers. Fur traders."

"What does that have to do with the windego?" I wondered.

"Other than the fact it's probably from around that time?" she began. "There were a few trading posts in the area. People actually lived there, and they'd build underground cellars. My guess is someone took the time to build a really solid one and it's still there."

"It's a good theory," I gave her credit. "Do you happen to know where one might be?"

"The records get kind of hazy around the mid 1800's," she admitted. "But I found something that suggested a trading post once stood in the same area these people are getting ganked."

I couldn't help but give her a curious stare. Here she was, less than 24 hours after knowing these things actually existed, on her first case. And she was a pro. At the leg work, anyway. Her black belt and knife throwing skills made me believe she was already a pro at the nasty parts too.

She parked her car at the same trail head every other missing person had parked at and popped her trunk.

"Here's a little hunting 101," I told her as we climbed out of her car and headed towards the opened rear end. "Don't wear anything that could easily snag."

We both took a minuet to look over the safety pins and chains that hung from her plaid pants.

"Fine," she moaned, carefully removing each and every item from her pants before carelessly stowing them in her trunk.

"The piercings, too," I said and her face fell.

"Seriously?" she groaned.

"Just the hoops," I told her and she rolled her eyes. Begrudgingly she took out the lip, the nose and the eyebrow piercings and added them to the messy trunk.

"And the hair," I said and, for a minuet, it looked like she was about ready to scream. I extended a pair of large scissors in her direction as she chewed this over.

"Fine," she all but spat, snatching the scissors from my hand.

Using the reflection in the car window as a mirror, Sterling slowly said goodbye to her green mohawk as she cut it all off.

"And everyone thought I looked fucking stupid before," she grumbled once she had finished, snatching a black knit hat from the trunk.

"I donno," I looked her over. "You don't look half bad for a bald chick."

"Gee, thanks," she rolled her eyes as she pulled her hat over her head. "Any other pieces of me you'd like to completely destroy before we do this damn thing?"

"No, you should be fine," I told her before handing her a duffel bag. "Now be careful with this and, for the love of god, save all cigarette breaks until we kill this thing."

"Got it," she agreed and, once she locked up her car, fearlessly led the way down a narrow but well worn trail.

"You don't seem that scared," I remember commenting as I followed her.

"Should I be?" she wondered back.

"Most hunters are pretty petrified on their first case," I informed her. "They also usually start a little smaller, like ghosts and stuff."

"I'm not gonna lie," she began as she slowly began to direct our route away from the park provided path and through the maple and oak wooded forest. "I'm still a little skeptical about this whole thing. The way I see it, my day's gonna end one of two ways; either I kick the living shit out of a windego and I'm happy, or you're playing the most elaborate joke anyone's ever played on me which means I kick the living shit out of you and I'm happy."

"I guess we better find this windego then," I muttered. "How'd you get interested in all this, anyway?"

For a minuet Sterling didn't say anything, silently making her own path through the leaf scattered forest while she pondered my question.

"My mom," she began just when I was beginning to wonder if she had even heard me. "She died in a house fire when I was ten."

"Yeah, you told me that," I nodded.

"I think it was a Poltergeist," she confessed. "I mean, up until yesterday I thought my mind had made up some weird details about the whole thing, but now I'm almost positive it was a Poltergeist."

"What happened?" I gently asked.

"Oh, you know," she shrugged. "Poltergeist stuff. Here we are."

She stopped short and it took me a while to see what exactly she was talking about. When I finally found it, I stopped wondering why no one knew about this place. Mostly it just looked like a small clearing in the forest with a few large rocks and some fallen trees. Upon closer inspection, a sizable hole could be seen just feet from the base of a grand old oak tree.

Wordlessly, Sterling led me to the hole in the ground. When we illuminated the dark abyss below with a pocket sized flash light, we found the broken remains of a short wooden staircase that led to the old and fairly elaborate cellar. The smell that wafted up was rotten and horrific.

"There's defiantly something living down there," I held my nose at the stench. "Or dying."

"I'll go down first," she volunteered, preparing to jump feet first into that place. "And you toss me the bags."

"I don't think so," I argued with her. "I'll go down first."

"Why does it matter?" she wanted to know.

"Because that thing could be down there waiting for us," I pointed out as Sterling folded her arms across her chest.

"Yeah, well, it could be out here waiting for us too," she said.

"Sure," I accepted her challenge. "But it'd be easier for you to escape if he jumps out from the trees."

"Awe, you're trying to protect me," Sterling batted her lashes at me in a sarcastic fashion.

"Damn right I am," I agreed. "My dad'll kill me if you got hurt and found out it was because of me. Hell, I'll kill me if you get hurt."

She stopped arguing after that. Instead she silently followed me into the old cellar and stayed close while we slowly inched our way through the dark and surprisingly large hall. The farther down we got, the worse the odor became and I remember at one point it got so bad we both began to gag.

"God, what is that?" Sterling only kind of wanted to know as my flashlight found corpse one.

"Week old Johnny," I replied and, for a second, it looked like Sterling was going to vomit at the sight of her dead classmate. The small light on my flashlight found the other four bodies, none of whom actually resembled who they used to be they were so torn, mutilated and, ugh, eaten.

"This is where the road ends," I commented. "I'm guessing our windego is off looking for another meal."

So we did the only thing we could think to do at the time. We burned the cellar down. Which, by the way, is a fantastic way to call a windego home. Little tip if you ever go out windego hunting (although you should probably just leave that to me) and home boy's out to lunch.

The freak of nature came out of the forest swinging and shrieking. I assume it was swinging, anyway, since it did a damn good job knocking Sterling and myself out of its way. The problem was, was we couldn't see it.

"So the invisibility thing's legit on these things," Sterling commented in a low tone, her eyes franticly searching the woods around us as her ears listened for movements in the trees.

"Yeah," I agreed, extracting a couple of alcohol filled glass bottles from my bag. "Sorry, I probably should have mentioned that."

"Yeah, that would have been useful information," she agreed, accepting one of the "bombs".

The still invisible monster came back around and, by the way Sterling stood, I knew she was listening to its every move. Clearly she could hear when its claws came swiping down at her and managed to back away in time to avoid being gutted. Her Rancid t-shirt, however, was not so lucky and hung torn to shreds.

By now most people would have shit themselves and started hauling ass to the parking lot. I myself have to admit I was beginning to grow worrisome. Not Sterling. No, this monster tearing up her t-shirt only made her angry.

"Oh hell no," she fumed, looking over the tatters of her black shirt. "That was my favorite shirt you son of a bitch!"

"You're only pissing him off more," I pointed out, but she didn't care. Her ears were focused hard, listening to the creature's impossibly swift movements.

"Behind you!" she warned and, if it had taken me a second longer to duck my head, I probably wouldn't have one anymore. I heard it swipe at me before it kicked me to the ground and attempted to drag me off.

The windego stood a good chance of winning, but Sterling wasn't going to let him. She bolted towards us and gave the thing a mighty kick. I felt the grip loosen from around my ankles and heard the mad rustling of dead leaves on the forest floor. The way Sterling now stood, I could tell the creature had a hold of her waist.

"Bad move, asshole," Sterling muttered and, with her right hand, she smashed the glass, alcohol filled bottle right around where the creature's head should have been.

The windego let out a loud, painful howl as Sterling thrust her elbows backwards and into the creature's gut, an action that caused his grip on her to loosen enough for her to free herself. With a somewhat clear shot, I lit the cloth that hung from the top of my own little bomb and hurled it in the monster's general vicinity. Mental note; close only counts in horseshoes, hand grenades and homemade windego bombs.

The thing went up in flames, screeching in horrific pain as it burned before our very eyes. Our chests heaved with a mix of victorious pride and utter relief we got to it before it really got to us.

"What the fuck are you doing!?"

The voice came unannounced, unexpected and way too familiar. I remember thinking _please be a DNR officer or park ranger_ as I hesitantly turned around.

No dice. It was dad. And he looked beyond pissed.

"Hey dad," I said, hanging my head with embarrassment as he marched closer to us.

"You hunted a windego?" he fumed. "Without telling anyone? Alone!?"

"I'm not alone," I spoke, motioning towards Sterling, which only upset my old man a lot more.

"I am extremely disappointed in you," he told me through clenched teeth. "I cannot believe you went after a windego like that. With a young girl none the less."

"With all due respect," Sterling spoke up and I remember really wishing she would just not say anything. "I knew what I was walking into. I volunteered."

Dad studied her for a minuet.

"Your family in the business?" he wanted to know and Sterling shook her head. "Then it'll be easier for you to get out now. You don't want this life, kid, and my son shouldn't have pointed it out to you."

Insert embarrassing parental unit dragging his son out of the woods, muttering, cursing and yelling all the way back to the parking lot where he practically shoved me into the back seat of the Impala. I didn't even get to say goodbye to her. Dad just hauled me off, leaving me to wonder what would become of her for years to come.

Yeah, it was probably a dumb way to introduce someone to the life and sure dad was pissed. Did I regret it? Not once. Honestly, I would have regretted it a lot more if I just let her go on thinking all this stuff is make believe. It sucks she died so young but, to be perfectly frank, I'm almost positive that by exposing the real world to her, I kept her alive longer than she would have let herself go otherwise.


	5. Boo!

**2006**

"Maybe I should drive for a while," Sammy comments and I find myself blinking away another flashback.

"I'm fine," I grumble.

"I asked you a question, like, five minuets ago," my brother tells me.

"Oh... what was it?"

"Seriously man," Sammy says. "You're obviously unfocused. You keep getting that cheesy ninety's flashback look on your face."

"Well, it did happen in the nineties," I comment and Sam furrows his brows in confusion.

"What did?" he wants to know.

You know, Sammy. The story I just played out for the umpteenth time in my head. The one you've never heard.

"The windego... never mind," I sigh. "I'm fine."

"If you're fine," he begins to challenge me, "then I'd hate to hear your definition of not fine." Pause. "So, you guys met in high school. Did you guys keep in touch all these years?"

"Not exactly," I recall. "I didn't even see her again for five years."

"How'd you reunite?" Sammy's way too into the story that I'm still reluctant to share all of.

"Bobby, actually," I say. "Dad and I were having one hell of a time identifying a monster and Bobby was too busy with his own case so he gave us her number." I pause to let a small, fond smile form across my weary face. "I didn't even realize it was her at first. I should have when Bobby referred to her as the Professor. When dad talked to her on the phone and she knew off the top of her head what we were hunting, I really should have known."

"Wait, dad needed help on a case?" Sam finds this intriguing.

"It was a weird one," I admit. "You ever hear of a draugr?"

"No," Sammy shakes his head.

"Yeah, neither had we," I say. "Until that one call to the Professor." I pause to let loose another small smile. "She actually made us wait for her to catch up to us before we killed it just so she could see it."

"So she was crazy then," Sammy speculates.

"Oh, for sure," I don't deny it. "But the good kind of crazy."

For a minuet, neither one of us says anything. I find my mind wandering from memory to memory of the hunter and I can't stop thinking how I should have hunted with her more. Should have called her more. Should have been a better friend. Should have told her...

"Where did she die?" Sammy gently breaks the silence.

"Montana," I state.

"We could go up there if you want," he kindly suggests. "Say goodbye."

"Yeah, maybe," I slowly pretend to accept the idea. "After we knock out this next case."

Not that I don't want to say goodbye. It's just, from the way Bobby described it, there's nothing left to say goodbye to. I'd be just as well off saying it from my seat in the Oldsmobile driving through the corn fields of Iowa.

My eyes glance to the rearview mirror where they see her again. The girl dressed in plaid and denim with big azure eyes, the girl from the roadside. And the sidewalk. Except she's not on the road this time. Instead, she's sitting in the back seat wearing a wide smile on her defined lips. When she opens her mouth to speak, this is what comes out;

"Boo!"

Boo.

It's the first time any ghost has ever said that to me. And you bet your ass I slam on the breaks. I slam 'em so hard, Sammy almost sails through the windshield. We twist our bodies around to face the woman sitting in the back seat, now wearing a pleased grin upon her face.

"I've always wanted to do that," she comments. "That was awesome by the way."

"Jesus," Sam mutters, bewildered by what he's seeing, despite the fact this should be just another normal thing for us to witness.

"Try again," Sterling laughs. "Hi, Dean."

"What the hell...?" I question, my tone bordering a yell. "I thought you were dead?"

"Uh, clearly I am," she tells me. "How else did I magically appear in a moving vehicle?"

"I mean how the hell are you here?" I shake my head in disbelief. If it weren't for the way Sammy looks at her, I'd swear I was going crazy.

"Good question," Sterling admits. "I've spent a good three months trying to figure that out myself. Nice to see you too, by the way."

"Sorry," I grumble. "You kind of took me off guard there. Bobby just told me you bit the dust."

"You're Sterling," Sammy figures it out and she nods.

"Yes," she confirms with a pleasant nod. "You must be Sam. It's nice to finally meet you. Your dad was real proud of you." She pauses, her expression falling somberly. "I heard about him, by the way. I'm sorry."

I'm not entirely sure what's more confusing; the fact that ghost Sterling is sitting in my car or the fact that ghost Sterling is offering condolences on another departed. I'm not going to dwell too much on it. I don't particularly care for most of the memories I have of the two of them together.

"So, what's going on?" I ask, unable to wrap my mind around the fact that my departed friend is sitting the the back seat of my Impala. "How did you get here?"

"I walked," she calmly shrugs, which really only inspires a lot more questions. "I saw your car a few towns back and figured I'd follow you."

"I mean, how are you here?" I ask again. "Bobby said you died out in Montana."

"Yeah, I did," she grumbles. "And I have no idea how I was able to walk all this way. I mean, if I'm a ghost, I should be out in Montana, right? Or Michigan?"

My thoughts exactly.

"Look, I'm glad I ran into you guys," she says. "I could really use some help with this."

"What happened?" Sammy asks. "In Montana."

"I remember driving," Sterling slowly recalls. "Eighty, maybe ninety miles an hour. Pitch black, not a star in the sky, but at three in the morning I was the only car on the road. I took my eyes off the road for five fucking seconds to light a cigarette and the next thing I know there's an oil truck an inch away from my hood with his headlights off. Then I'm waking up along side the road sometime late morning where firemen and police officers were still trying to clean up the wreck. Which is when I pretty much knew I was dead."

"That... that sucks," Sammy fumbles, suddenly aware he's speaking to a ghost.

"No kidding," Sterling rolls her eyes. "At least I didn't feel anything, right? Anyway, I spent a good couple of weeks on that highway before I got bored enough to see just how far I could go. I've been walking around ever since."

"That's so..." I begin.

"Weird?" she finishes for me. "Yeah."

"I told you smoking was going to kill you," I say and she just rolls her eyes.

"You're sure you didn't leave some DNA on the highway?" Sammy suggests and Sterling just shrugs.

"The accident was pretty brutal, according to the 'on-the-scene action news reporters'," she shares. "Big explosion. Nothing left of my car, hardly anything left of the truck. Some drunk jack ass and me, Jane or John Doe, so burned there was nothing left of my body."

I pretend like I'm not going to throw up at that thought.

"Plus," she goes on. "If I had DNA scattered around there somewhere, I'd still be there. Which is why I could use your help."

"Okay," Sammy slowly racks his mind. "What else could tie a spirit to earth?"

"I was kind of thinking unfinished business," Sterling, the Professor, chips in her two cents.

"What kind of unfinished business?" I cock my brow at her statement.

"I don't know," she shrugs. "I was on my way to a potential case. Maybe I've got one more hunt left in me before I can go?"

Seems harmless enough for unfinished business. It couldn't hurt, really. It would be nice to hunt with her one more time and give her a proper goodbye.

"I think we can help you out with that," I tell her with a small smile as I pull the Oldsmobile back onto the road.

"Hey, Sterling," Sammy speaks, somewhat excited to meet one of the incredibly few friends I've ever had, ghost or not. "What's a draugr?"


	6. Cemetery Love

**Welcome new followers! And a big thank you to all who reviewed! I wasn't sure how this story would go over, so I'm glad I've been able to entertain you once again. ****I hope you continue to enjoy the little tale I had stuck in my head. Remember; reviews aren't nessicariy but looooooved. **

**2001**

A _draugr_ is a form of "undead", and hails from Scandinavian folklore. Norse mythology. Which is why neither dad or I had ever seen one, much less heard of one.

This particular case came about shortly after Sammy headed off to college. Some strange deaths and reports of odd activity took dad and me out to a small town in northern Minnesota. The way it pestered and went after a specific family and their friends, we thought we were looking at a revenant. When silver didn't bother it, we figured it was a zombie. We discovered the hard way that this creature's neck was so thick it couldn't be cut off, which meant it was not a zombie. I got thrown into a tree and dad almost got his head ripped off.

For the record, this thing was huge. Viking like, which was fitting considering what it was, and stronger than anything I'd ever hunted before. He wasn't pale like many members of the undead are, but rather blue. Not blue man blue. This guy just looked like he was perpetually freezing.

Needless to say, we were stumped and Bobby was too busy with his own case to dig into his collection of ancient lore. He did, however, provide us with a phone number.

"That's the Professor's number," I could hear Bobby's voice over dad's thick gray cell phone from my seat on my motel bed. "If anyone knows more about monsters than I do, it's the Professor."

While the name struck as more than familiar, I chalked it up to coincidence. I didn't think it was really her. Why would anyone keep a nickname given to them in high school by their asshole classmates?

So dad put in the call and found it more than surprising when a female picked up.

"I'm sorry," he spoke. "I must have the wrong number. I'm looking for the Professor."

"You got her," the voice responded from the other end, which, really, is when I should have realized it was no coincidence.

"Oh," my dad shook his head in disbelief. "My name is John Winchester. Bobby Singer gave me your number."

"John Winchester," the voice returned, full of amusement at the name she obviously knew. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"My son Dean and I are having an unusually difficult time figuring out what we're hunting," dad spoke.

"Oh really?" the woman's voice perked up with a great interest. "What have you got on it?"

Dad shared what we knew as I listened to the conversation from a comfortable position on my lumpy bed covered in a tacky green and pink floral quilt.

"Sounds like you're dealing with a draugr," the Professor told dad with a confident air. "Which is unfortunate. They're almost impossible to kill. Your best bet is to lock him in his tomb."

"I'd rather kill him," my dad insisted and I could hear a faint sigh.

"Where are you guys?" she wanted to know, so dad gave her our location. "I'm an hour away. Hang tight and I'll come help you out."

It was less of a request and more of a command. She actually hung up before filling us in on how to get rid of or lock up one of these things. She knew if she told us, we would have gone on without her and I couldn't shake the feeling this stranger actually wanted to see this rare monster.

I realized, of course, that she was no stranger an hour later when we met her in a cemetery under a starry night sky. She was leaning against a fire engine red '68 Mustang, a lit cigarette held between perfectly shaped lips as her right hand casually tossed a silver dagger in the air and caught it without so much as a glance at it. Even in the faint light of the moon I could see her short, shaggy hair had been colored with a tie-dye explosion of pastel pink, lilac hued purple and powder blue. Beneath a tight fitting leather jacket she wore a black MC5 t-shirt, and on her feet she wore heavy black combat boots. Her black jeans hugged her slender hips, held in place by a black studded belt.

I had to blink a few times just to be sure it was her. When a set of long lashes batted over her big azure eyes, I knew it was her. She looked similar to how she did in high school, but completely different at the same time. Different, as in hot as hell.

Not that she was ever ugly. The way she looked in high school, any time spent on her appearance was a conscious effort to repel people. Now she just looked like she was supposed to. Tough but soft, sexy and beautiful. Even with her cotton candy colored hair she was the most beautiful thing I'd ever seen. At that moment, I craved something far beyond a friendship with her. I wanted to ditch dad and his Impala and hit the road with Sterling in her Mustang. I wanted to slap a ring on her finger, tattoo her name on my chest and put a bun in her oven.

Translation; I had fallen head over heels.

I must have been gaping at her, because the next thing I remember is my dad leaning over and saying "pick your jaw up, son. It's not polite to stare."

When I glanced at him with an embarrassed look, I noticed he was just shy of a dropped jaw himself. I winced at my dad's own longing expression. I didn't want to compete with dad for anything, especially not for a woman.

"S-Sterling?" I stumbled on my own words as she strode away from her Mustang and towards me, flicking her cigarette to the ground as her pace increased.

"Dean!" she squealed back in a low tone, spreading her arms to gather me into a quick but affectionate hug. "I was wondering when I'd get to see you again."

"I can't believe it's really you," is what I muttered back, my mind still processing this lucky surprise. "You're still going by Professor?"

"Yeah," she replied with a shy shrug. "It's kind of fitting, right?"

"I take it you two know each other," Dad speculated as I stared in awe at the gorgeous woman that stood before us.

"We go way back," Sterling said with a small, knowing smile directed at me as dad extended a hand in her direction.

"Well I'm John," he introduced himself while Sterling politely took his hand. "Dean's father."

"Oh, I know who you are," she told him with a sly smile. "You're quite the legend amongst hunters. Besides, we've met."

"Oh?" Dad's face fell into a confused frown as he searched for her face in his memory bank.

"Not formally," Sterling added, not bothering to remind him of our youthful indiscretions. "It's nice to properly meet the famous John Winchester." She paused to wiggle her eyebrows in excitement. "So, a draugr, huh? How cool is that?"

"How is that cool?" dad asked, clearly far from amused at Sterling's comment. "People are dying because of this thing."

"It's just a rarity for the states is all," Sterling replied. "A once in a lifetime opportunity, ya know?"

Dad gave her a cold stare that would have made most people shudder.

"Did it just get awkward out here?" Sterling attempted to crack the thick tension with a hint of humor. "Anyway... let's get down to business then, shall we?"

"So we're assuming it's a dunbar or whatever," I tried to get my head off her beauty and back into the game.

"Draugr," she corrected me. "If your description was accurate, I'm not assuming, I'm telling you that's what it is." She paused to unlatch the trunk of her classic car as dad and I gathered around her. "I've got some herbs and other witchy stuff. There's a spell we have to use to make the draugr stay in his grave." She paused again to dig through an ancient looking book before extracting a loose page bearing letters written in what looked like runes. "Here it is."

"What about killing it?" my dad really just wanted to take this monster down.

"Like I said on the phone," Sterling replied. "They're pretty much impossible to kill."

"Well?" Dad urged her to go on. Like "pretty much impossible" had ever stopped a Winchester.

"One of you has to wrestle it back into it's tomb," she slowly revealed. "And stab it in the heart."

"You don't think one of us can wrestle it back in?" my dad challenged as Sterling just gave him a small smile.

"I'm positive you could," she told him sincerely. "Even if only half the stories about you are true. The thing is, really, half the time you stab one in the heart, it doesn't kill them."

"Couldn't hurt to try," is what dad came back with.

"It could, actually," Sterling pointed out the obvious dangers of the difficult task. "But I know what you mean."

"I'll wrestle him back in," dad went on, turning to the Impala to load up from our personal armory stashed in the trunk. "As soon as I get it in there, you and the Professor seal it with that spell."

"Why doesn't Dean try it?" Sterling suggested, something dad scowled over.

"This plan is not up for negotiation," he told her, his voice firm.

"Guess we're not killing a draugr today," I caught Sterling grumble to herself as she gathered the needed ingredients to make a draugr lock.

"You don't think my dad can do it?" I whispered to her and she sighed, turning her eyes to the figure of my father wandering away through the misty graveyard.

"I don't mean to offend you or your dad," she gradually began, shoving jars and knives alike into a small black satchel. "It's just..." Pause. Sigh. "To kill a draugr, it takes a true hero."

"You don't think my dad's a hero?" I could feel my cheeks grow red with anger.

"Oh, I do," she was quick to defend herself. "He's saved a lot of lives and killed a lot of monsters. The thing is, your dad started doing this based on revenge. I guess what I'm saying is, vengeance isn't really thought of as a hero like quality. So don't be surprised if all we do here tonight is lock this thing away."

"You might be right about how my dad got into hunting," I told her as we slowly made our way across the graveyard towards the old tomb dad and I had last spotted the monster. "But he was a hero long before that. He was in the marines. He went to 'Nam."

"Let's just both agree that we hope you're right," she told me gently, not interested making an argument out of facts.

"What about you?" I challenged. "You didn't get into this for revenge. Why don't you take a stab at it?"

This actually made her laugh.

"I might be a decent hunter," she returned, "and I might be strong. But I know my limit. A draugr would rip me in half before I could get it on the ground."

"He's gone," my dad informed us once we approached him and the empty tomb.

"Let's go find him," I suggested.

"No," Sterling shook her head, her face thoughtful. "Let's bring him to us."

"And just how do you plan on doing that?" my dad was curious to know.

"Remember what we did to that windego's home?" Sterling quizzed me and I slowly nodded, somewhat embarrassed she brought it up around the guy who was less than proud of our reckless hunt.

"Uh, yeah," I coughed. "We burned it down."

"Wait, you're the girl Dean took on that windego hunt?" my dad finally figured out where they had met.

"Yeah," she shrugged. "But let's not dwell on the past. We've got a bigger monster to fry."

"You're suggesting we burn his tomb down?" I questioned as my brows began to fold.

"No, no," she shook her head again. "But I am suggesting we lure him back. My guess, based on what we're dealing with, is if we start breaking his stuff, he'll come running."

The plan sounded solid enough to dad, so Sterling and I wandered inside the cold, dark structure and started destroying whatever we could find. Whoever this guy used to be, he must have been full blown Scandinavian and a hardcore traditionalist. Not only was he "buried" in an actual tomb, it was stock piled with trinkets and valuable objects the guy thought he'd need in the "afterlife".

"I thought Vikings got a floating funeral," I made conversation as Sterling smashed a few vases and I hurled a small, wooden box at the stone wall. "You know, nice ship, lovely virgin, all set ablaze."

"I significantly doubt this guy was actually a Viking," Sterling told me as we made a disaster area of the monster's home. "And not every Viking got that kind of funeral. Mostly just the kings or the über warriors."

"Did you just say über?" I questioned with an amused tone.

"Get out of there," my dad spoke with a hurried voice, breaking our pleasant conversation. "It's working. He's coming."

We did as we were told, emerging from the tomb in time to watch my father march into the cemetery straight towards the mammoth blue figure.

"Wow," Sterling whispered in awe as dad and the draugr charged each other under the light of the moon. "That's freaking sweet. You know, for a monster and all. I bet you $20 you'll never see one again in the states." She paused to rummage through her satchel before looking back up at me. "Why do you keep staring at me? Do I have something on my face?"

Had I been staring? Oh, lord, I had been...

"No, sorry," I shook my head, thankful the night should cover any embarrassment my face might display in being caught admiring her. "It's just... you look really good, Sterling."

"What, I didn't before?" she frowned as she folded her arms across her chest.

"No, that's not... I mean..." I began to fumble for the right words before she could crack an amused smile.

"I'm kidding, Dean," she said playfully. "And thanks."

She returned to sifting through her bag before extracting two separate jars while I told myself to focus on the the monster. There would be time to stare at Sterling later.

"Pour this around the tomb," she instructed me, handing me a jar of what appeared to be dried sage and seeds. "Just like a salt line."

I did as she instructed with Sterling just behind me, scattering her own herbs and seeds along with mine. Which took a whopping minuet to accomplish. So we watched in wonder as dad managed to get the blue skinned monster to the ground, sustaining several blows to his face and gut as he attempted this.

Once the monster was on the ground, dad wrestled it across the cemetery, each of them throwing their fists at the other as they battled. Somehow dad managed to steer the fight right into the monster's tomb. Without missing a beat, Sterling and I sealed off the door with her herb blend and the spell hit her lips.

I watched as dad pinned the creature to it's back and quickly thrust a long, sharp dagger into it's thick chest. The monster let out a loud, bellowing scream as dad swiftly leapt to his feet and into the night air. For a minuet we all stood in the doorway, peering into the dark tomb as the monster heaved, gasped and gagged until it simply stopped. It's body went limp, it's chest stopped and the cries died.

I gave Sterling a triumphant, "told ya so" smile.

"Hey man," she put her arms up in defense. "I'm not complaining."

It could have been my cocky attitude that did it, although it's probably because Sterling was right all along. Whatever the reason, the draugr shot up from his death bed and attempted to charge us. The three of us backed quickly away, finding relief when it could not pass the doorway. For a while, we all just stood there, watching the thing that snarled and howled back at us.

All I could to was sigh as dad gave the far from dead beast a deflated look.

"At least he's not going anywhere for a while," Sterling tried to lighten the mood with a hint of optimism.

It was true. We had at least managed to lock the thing away. And as disappointing and lame as this half victory was for me, it was kind of nice hunting with her again.

"Where are you going?" I attempted flirtations with her.

"On," she told me with a mysterious smile. "I've got a case I'm working on. But you have my number. Let's not let another five years go by this time."

**AN: so, before you get all "John was totally a hero you bitch!" on me, I have to explain myself. Yes, I too believe Papa Winchester was a hero. But I had to think from a god's POV on this one. Maybe they would think of him as heroic too, but when you factor in the whole revenge aspect of his hunting career on top of how he raised Sam & Dean... well, I don't think a Norse god would see that as true hero qualities.**

**Anyway, please don't hate me. I do love John, I swear.**


	7. Ghost Hunting With A Ghost

**2006**

"I'm not going to lie, I feel kind of hypocritical about this."

Sterling is having her doubts on the particular case we've allowed her to partake in. She stands on the earth above as Sammy and I dig a large hole, rectangularly shaped. Six feet down.

"You're the one who wanted to go on one more hunt," I point out as I toss dirt into a pile beside me. "You want to move on or not?"

"Well, yeah," she replies, loosely hanging onto a sawed off shotgun filled with rounds of rock salt. "I guess I figured I'd be hunting a vampire or a djinn or something. Not a ghost."

"Figured or hoped?" I question and she sighs.

"Both," she admits, her azure eyes watching us dig farther down.

For a few moments I pause in our dirty work. I want to help her move on, I really do. She was a great person and she doesn't deserve to be trapped here like this. So it's bad that I hope this doesn't work, right? She still doesn't know. I haven't told her...

"Don't pitch in or anything," I hear Sammy mutter sarcastically from beside me. "I can dig faster by myself."

"I figured you got this," I return with a joking smile, slowly thrusting my shovel into the dirt once more. No sense in letting anyone pick up on my hesitations in really letting Sterling go, even if she's not really back.

"Don't panic, guys," Sterling comments, her eyes focused on the woods in the distance as she gently raises the shotgun. "But we've got company."

"I don't see anything," I squint, searching for signs of life or, more likely, afterlife.

"Good," Sterling speaks, her eyes still focused on the tree line. "That means you're not dead."

"Not that I'm panicking," Sammy begins with a mild irritation in his tone. "But we could get this done a lot quicker if you'd quit spacing out, Dean."

"I'm not spacing out," I defend myself. "I'm just resting."

"You know who else wants to rest?" Sammy continues as he heaves dirt over his shoulder. "Sterling."

"He's got you there," Sterling admits with a small smile, slowly lowering the gun. "False alarm, by the way. Just a graveyard ghost. She's not the one we're digging up."

"What?" Sam pauses long enough to give Sterling a confused, questioning stare.

"We're in a graveyard, Sam," Sterling rolls her eyes at my little brother. "There's usually a ghost or five hanging around." She pauses to give me a quick look. "I thought you said he was the smart one?"

"Just 'cause he went to some college in California doesn't make him smart," I say with a playful smile.

"_Stanford_, Dean," Sam emphasizes the school's name. "I went to Stanford."

"Stanford, UCLA, what's the difference?" I wink at Sterling as I say this, knowing fully well what kind of rise this will get from Sammy.

"What's the difference!?" Sammy throws his shovel to the ground in the hole we stand within. "Where do I even start? First there's the average IQ level, then there's the staff..."

"Woah, woah, woah," I put my hands up. "I was joking. I know the difference. Now, pick up your shovel and get back to digging. Bitch."

"Jerk," he responds as he slowly bends down to retrieve his tool.

"You two almost make me wish I had a brother," Sterling comments with a small smile. "Or glad I was an only child."

Quite suddenly her expression falls as her ghosty sixth sense kicks up and her eyes are once more scanning the graveyard for spirits that aren't tied here. I know she sees something when she raises the gun once more, taking a steady aim.

"You might wanna wrap this up," her tone drops all nonsense and turns serious. "We got company and it's not the lady from the next row over."

While her warning gives Sam and me the motivation to put a rush on our digging, I can't help but shudder at Sterling's comment. I wonder just how many ghosts have watched me dig up and torch corpses over the years?

"Where is she?" Sam questions as he heaves piles of dirt behind him.

"In the process of materializing," Sterling replies. "Don't worry about her. I've got the ghost. You guys just keep digging."

"Listen, Sterling," I begin as my shovel strikes what has to be the coffin. "If this really helps you move on, I just want you to know that... um..." I trail off as I glance over at Sammy for a moment to see if he's listening. What I want to tell her is hard for me to say. It's not because I don't mean it, but rather how intensely I feel it and I've never been able to convey my emotions verbally.

Hesitantly I debate on whether or not I want to finish my sentence. I don't need Sam to know I'm not a robot, but then again, I might not ever get to say this to her again.

"... I'm really going to miss you," I finish, wussing out at the last second. "And I'm sorry I wasn't a better friend."

These aren't lies. I did want her to know these things. It's just not everything I wanted to tell her.

"I'll miss you too, Dean," Sterling returns, her gaze barely turning from the ghost that may or may not be nearing us. "I'll send you a postcard from Valhalla."

I manage a small smile as Sammy and I pry open the old coffin. Sterling's never taken the afterlife all that seriously. Not unless it's charging her from beyond the grave, anyway. Even then she's always taken the job somewhat lightly. As lightly as anyone really could take a serious situation. Come to think of it, she's never taken much of anything too seriously.

"And in case this doesn't work," she continues. "Try not to get any salt on me."

"We'll do what we can," Sammy gives her a vague promise as we hop out of the grave. Sam salts the woman's bones as I quickly pour kerosene over her.

"Shit," Sterling mutters, spinning around and around. "I lost her."

"What do you mean you lost her?" Sammy questions.

"I mean hurry up and burn the bitch before she tries anything funny," she replies, looking between the two of us. "Dean, behind you!"

I duck just in time to miss the round of rock salt that would have hit me in the chest. It wouldn't have killed me, but I can't imagine it would have felt good.

"I got her," Sterling assures us, lowering her weapon. "Have I mentioned how hypocritical I feel about this?"

"Once or twice," Sammy replies.

"Cool," Sterling nods. "One of you give me some matches."

My brows fold into a reluctant frown.

"Why?" I ask the question I already know the answer to.

"I'll probably have a better chance moving on if I'm the one who torches her," she says, holding out the gun to trade for fire. "You know, if this is really what's keeping me here."

Again I hesitate. She deserves peace, she deserves to move on. But I don't want to let her go. Not yet, not like this. I haven't even told her yet...

"Here," Sammy accepts the trade without thought, handing her a wilted book of matches while accepting the gun. "It was nice meeting you."

"You too," Sterling returns. "I wish it had been under better circumstances."

"Yeah," Sammy agrees. "This was kind of an awkward way to meet."

Sterling turns around and gives me a small grin.

"I'll see you on the other side," she tells me as she strikes a match.

"Yeah," I choke out, still half hoping it doesn't work.

She takes in a long and pointless breath before dropping the match into the open grave. She doesn't watch the corpse burn, nor does she take much notice to the ghost that appears long enough for us to witness its demise. Instead she turns her eyes to the starry sky above and waits.

And waits.

And waits.

"I'm still here, aren't I?" Sterling speaks at last, her azure eyes still on the night sky.

"Yeah," Sammy replies.

"Damn," she mutters as she returns her gaze to us. "It was kind of a long shot anyway, huh?"

"Kind of," I agree, containing the small joy I feel for her failed attempt at moving on.

Wow. I really am a terrible friend.

"Well, thanks anyway," she says with a deflated sigh. "I'll let you boys return to your life."

"Where do you think you're going?" I question.

"Donno," she replies with a shrug. "I just figured you guys had other work to take care of."

"Ghosts are kind of in our job description," Sammy joins in. "Granted, most of them are a little more vengeful. It'd be nice to help a good ghost find peace. Especially if she's a friend of Dean's."

Sterling smiles up at my brother.

"Well, alright," she doesn't really hesitate to take us up on our offer. "If you're not doing anything else."

"This is kind of what we do," I point out.

For someone whose been swallowing their emotions for their entire life, I have a difficult time hiding the excitement I feel for having Sterling around.

"Who knows," I continue. "If we can't figure out how you're stuck here, we could team up. Having a ghost on our side could come in handy."

"He's kidding," Sammy assures her as he sends me a small glare. "We'll figure it out before it comes to that."

"Either way I guess," Sterling says with a small laugh.

"What else you got on your unfinished business list?" I go along with our plan. I really do want to help. I just don't want to put it on the top of my list of things to do. I don't want to let her go, not yet. Not before I can tell her...

"Er... this is kind of awkward..." she slowly begins and I know that, if she could, she'd be blushing. "But I didn't get to say goodbye to your dad. You don't think his ghost is hanging out somewhere, do you?"

"Um, no," Sammy shakes his head, his face laced with a mixture of sorrow and confusion. "Why? How could that be tying you here?"

"Sorry I asked," Sterling quickly states. "I didn't mean to bring it up. That's probably not what's keeping me here, anyway."

Sam frowns as he looks between Sterling and me for answers. I don't speak. I'm too busy trying not to look disappointed to reveal what Sammy wants to know.

"I don't get it," he admits when neither one of us fill him in. "What's he..." He pauses in attempt to piece together that picture. "You hunted with him more than once, didn't you?"

"More than a hand full of times, actually," Sterling states but offers little more than that.

"Yeah," I scoff bitterly, attempting to keep down the memories this provokes. "If that's what you want to call it."

"You're still mad about that?" Sterling rolls her eyes at me as Sammy's expression softens in understanding.

"Wait, you and our dad...?" he doesn't finish the sentence. Sterling sends him a sheepish grin.

"I like older men," she tells him. She told me that once too. I've hated it every time I've heard it.

"Lets just forget I said anything," she hastily insists.

It's hard to forget now that it's slapped itself in my face.


	8. The Blizzard Incident

**2001**

I don't like thinking about this. In fact, I hate it. What I hate more is that it happened.

Dad and I got caught in an early blizzard only a couple of months after we had last seen Sterling. The winter storm ripped across the Rockies with little warning and no possible way to clear its path in time to avoid it. Dad was determined to accept the challenging weather and drive on through, but the county police had other ideas.

"Sorry," the officer told us when he pulled us over, the lawman bundled tightly in a thick brown parka as he shivered at the open window. "Road's closed. You'll have to turn around."

"We need to get through," dad threw an urgent air into his tone. "My boy's wife is in labor. We need to clear the pass tonight."

"Sorry," the cop said again, his tone somewhat sympathetic for the fabricated situation. "Can't let anyone through. The snow's already accumulated a couple of inches on the road."

"I can handle a couple inches of snow," dad continued to insist.

"I'm sure you can, Kansas," the cop muttered, his tone full of sarcasm.

"Show him your badge, dad," I nudged him, thinking his fake fed ID would get us through. So dad busted out his FBI badge, to which the officer only smiled.

"I don't mean to disrespect you, Agent," he spoke. "I know your authority surpasses mine. But the blizzard doesn't give a damn about your position or your situation. You of all people should appreciate what we're doing here."

Dad let out a defeated sigh as he pocketed his badge.

"Sorry son," the cop spoke to me, still under the impression the wife I didn't have was in labor with a kid I didn't make. "I wish I could help ya. Even if I wasn't just doing my job, I don't think I'd let you through. It's just not safe out there."

"Yeah, I get it," I said with a small shrug.

"There's a lodge just a few miles back the other way," the cop continued. "They're offering discounted rooms considering the weather. I suggest you head that way before I have to close off this section. Unless you wanna bunk with me in my cruiser for the night."

"We'll turn around," dad said. "Stay warm out there."

"I'm trying," the cop said as dad rolled his window back up.

So we did as the officer suggested. We turned around and found the lodge in the near blinding snow that whipped through the mountains. We passed a number of parked cars in the slick lot before finding a spot between a maroon minivan and a fire engine red '68 Mustang.

"Does that car look familiar to you?" I asked dad, my eyes studying the beautiful classic as we hurriedly gathered our over night bags.

"Most cars that old look familiar to me," dad replied before we made a dash through the gathering snow and bitter winds. "You forget, I used to be a mechanic."

I hadn't forgotten. I also never was a mechanic, which meant the classics didn't blend together quite as much for me as they did for him.

"Wasn't Sterling driving a Mustang when we met up with her in Minnesota?" I wondered aloud.

"Who?" dad wasn't sure who I was talking about.

"The Professor."

"Oh, right," it came to him as we reached the front doors. "Your cute friend from Michigan."

I frowned at his statement. I mean, she was cute and that was putting it mildly. I just didn't want to hear it from him.

We entered the lodge and I could almost hear my dad think "how much is this going to cost us?" It wasn't the run-down motel that went under the guise of a lodge. You know, the kind of place where all the doors face the parking lot and the guy running the front desk is wearing the same stained t-shirt he'd been wearing for four days straight. No, this was the ritzy kind of lodge. The kind of place where all the room doors were on the inside and didn't even start until the second floor. Not only was there an actual lobby, it was vast and open, decorated in the rustic style of wood framed furniture and completed with a stone fireplace. Looking directly up from this lobby, you could see each of the four floors before you found the massive skylight at the very top.

Needless to say, this place was not at all what dad and I were accustom to. I was so distracted by the fact our lodgings had a lobby, I almost missed the bar that sat adjacent to the front desk where a young woman in a clean blue blazer stood.

"One room," dad told the young woman whose gold name tag read Sylvia. "Two beds."

"I'm sorry," the woman spoke, her fingers clicking rapidly across the keyboard as her eyes scanned the computer screen before her. "We only have a few queen sized rooms available. The storm has brought us some unexpected business."

Glancing around the busy lobby, I could see she wasn't kidding. The place bustled with activity from strangers of all ages. Kids ran trough the halls upstairs while their parents sat by the roaring fire with a glass of wine. College kids wandered about, looking for someone to buy them a pint while the elderly congregated near the gift shop.

"All rooms do come with a very comfortable couch," the woman assured us.

"One queen then," dad said with a sigh as he slid a credit card across the desk.

"Dean!" A female's voice called from somewhere above. It didn't take me long to spot the girl with shaggy bright blue streaked black hair leaning over the wooden railing from the second floor.

"I guess that answers that question," dad commented as we watched Sterling make her way towards us with a large grin on her face.

"Sterling?" I returned in surprise when she rushed me with her arms spread open. "I thought I saw your car out there. What are you doing here?"

"What everyone else is doing here," she replied when she released me. "Waiting out the storm. John, it's nice to see you again."

For a split second it looked like she was going to shake his hand. And then she gave him a highly unexpected embrace that took both him and me off guard.

"Er, you too," he spoke through the surprise, though, by his expression, I could tell he didn't at all mind the strange gesture.

"The cop made you turn around too, huh?" I asked and she laughed.

"No, actually," she said. "He was going to until he noticed my Michigan plates. Said I could pass through if I hurried."

My dad frowned.

"Really?" he seemed irritated. "I flashed him my FBI badge and he still wouldn't let us through."

"That's cause you have Kansas plates," Sterling explained. "I practically learned how to drive in this kind of weather."

"So how come you turned around?" I asked curiously.

"I might know my way around a blizzard," she replied. "But Mustang's aren't exactly built for snow. You guys get a room alright?"

"Yeah," dad held up a key. "Room 206."

"You're right next to me," she said with a grin. "This blizzard is gonna be awesome."

"How is this blizzard going to be fun?" dad challenged. "This weather is holding us up from a hunt which means more people could get hurt."

"I just meant it's going to be more entertaining now with you guys here," Sterling attempted to explain. "Hey, Dean, you should join me at the bar."

"Yeah, sure," I quickly agreed. I passed my bag to dad who agreed to carry it up to our room so I could join Sterling for a drink or five.

"Your dad takes everything a little too seriously, doesn't he?" she spoke, looping an arm around mine as we strolled toward the bar.

"He was a marine," I tried to explain dad's serious attitude. "And he has seen a lot of gruesome shit in his life."

"Don't make excuses for him," Sterling told me. "A simple yes would have sufficed." She paused as we reached the bar and took a seat. "You ready to beat this blizzard with booze?"

"Always," I accepted before ordering a round of whiskey for starters.

Over the course of the evening, we drank. We chatted with strangers and shared stories amongst ourselves. Whatever we talked about, one subject continued to resurface.

"Why doesn't your dad like me?" she'd ask and I'd roll my eyes.

"I don't think he dislikes you," I'd respond. "You just have different views on life." Pause. "Why do you care so much, anyway? You've never given much of a shit about what people think of you."

"I know, I know," she returned. "Your dad is just such a legend. I don't want him to think I'm just some stupid girl who doesn't take her job seriously."

"Just go talk to him," is what I eventually told her. "I'm sure he likes you just fine."

Biggest mistake of my life. I never should have sent her to see my dad.

That was the last I saw of Sterling that evening. I met some random people, took shots with a few "of age" college kids, let a young woman drunkenly flirt with me. I drank enough alcohol to allow time to slip by and before I knew it, the bar was closing and everyone still awake was returning to their rooms.

I looked for Sterling, but I couldn't find her. When I decided to go to my own room, I failed to remember our room number and dad had the only key. So I drunkenly crashed on the lobby couch without a care in the world. It had been a good evening. I got to hang out with my beautiful friend, I met some decent people and all the spirits I dealt with were completely alcohol based.

And then I woke up.

I can't remember what exactly woke me up. All I can remember anymore is the first thing I saw upon opening my eyes.

Make that the second thing I saw. The first thing I saw was a bunch of old people waiting for breakfast and shaking their heads at me for passing out on the couch in the lobby. That's not the part that makes this whole thing a terrible memory I can't scrub free with alcohol.

What I saw was Sterling quietly exiting her bedroom wearing a pair of red lace panties and a black tank top. My first thought was "_damn, I should have gone to that room last night_". Room 206. The room she was in.

And then I remembered the room number dad had booked.

It hit me harder when he opened the door to room 206 himself, standing in a pair of navy boxers and a gray t-shirt holding out a key.

"You might need this," I heard him call to her.

She quickly back tracked to snatch her room key and a small kiss before attempting a stealthy return to her room one door over.

I could feel my heart breaking. I didn't want to watch but I couldn't look away. The girl I was madly in love with just had a one night stand. With my dad.

She must have felt my eyes watching her because she turned around and looked straight down at me before she could unlock her door. Her lips produced a sheepish smile before she gave me an awkward wave. I didn't wave back and fuck smiling. Fuck everything about that lodge.

"Young man," an elderly woman's voice snapped me back to reality, her face hovering over my body. "It's not polite to stare. Now are you going to get up or are you going to sleep here all day?"

If I had an option, I would have slept there all day. But it was a rhetorical question that provoked me to get up and roam the lodge in a silent rage. I didn't want to go upstairs, not after what I had seen. I didn't even want to see either of them again that day, an unavoidable feat I just couldn't prepare myself for.

So I sat at the bar and ordered a double whiskey while I waited for one of them to find me. Sterling came down first and took a seat beside me as if nothing had happened.

"Good morning," she greeted me cheerfully.

"That's a matter of opinion," I mumbled into my drink.

"Looks like the weather cleared up a bit," she attempted casual conversation and I couldn't tell if she was ignoring me or if she hadn't heard me. "I wonder if they'll open the roads back up? Between you and me, I wouldn't mind another night in this place."

"I bet you wouldn't," I bitterly returned before gulping down my double shot. "Another double, please."

"Someone's grumpy," she rolled her eyes.

She didn't get it. She had no idea the heartache I felt. What made it worse was knowing she clearly didn't feel for me what I felt for her.

"Looks like your talk with my dad went well," I observed shortly and she almost blushed.

"Yeah," she admitted. "A lot better than expected."

"Morning," dad joined us with a triumphant grin plastered across his face. "Startin' a little early there, aren't you son?"

I didn't reply. Instead I tilted my head back to consume my second double with haste.

"Don't know if we're gonna get out of here today," he continued, clearly a lot more relaxed about being trapped in the mountains than he was the night before. "It's not snowing as hard as it was yesterday but the wind's still damn cold. Looks like people are trying to make a break for it anyway. I saw some folks carrying salt out to the parking lot."

"Really?" Sterling seemed upset by this. "Anyone know what the temperature is?"

"Thermometer says nine degrees," the bartender replied.

"Perfectly good waste of salt," she grumbled as she rose from her seat. "I better go yell at those idiots to stop. Nothing's going to melt below 25."

Dad watched her scamper off before taking the empty seat beside me. I ordered a third double.

"You look rough," dad carelessly commented. "Sorry you had to sleep on the couch last night. If we have to stay again tonight, you can take the bed in our room."

"Why?" I angrily asked. "So you can go sleep with Sterling in her room?"

"Well, I hadn't thought about that," dad scratched his chin before a proud smile crossed his lips. "But now that you mention it..."

I shuddered and tipped my drink back.

"Give me your key," I told him, holding out my hand. "I'm gonna go sleep this blizzard off. Wake me up when it's over."


	9. Go Fish

**2006**

"Come again?" Bobby's voice comes through the other end of my gray phone. "I don't think I heard ya quite right."

"Oh, you heard me," I tell the old hunter. "Sterling is with us right friggin' now."

"What's she doin'?" Bobby wants to know. I glance over at the motel bed where Sammy and Sterling are playing with a deck of red cards.

"Playing Go Fish with Sam," I report.

"Tell Bobby I say hi," Sterling says, not glancing up from her cards. "You got any 6's?"

"Go fish," Sammy replies with a smile.

"Sterling says hi," I relay the message to Bobby. "You guys need to learn how to play poker, by the way."

"Ghost," Sterling said pointing to herself without looking up from her cards. "We don't carry a lot of cash."

"That's so... so..." Bobby can't find the word he's looking for.

"Weird?" I finish for him.

"That works," Bobby says. "Where are you, anyway?"

"Iowa," I state.

"That is weird," Bobby comments. "How'd she end up there?"

"She walked," I report.

"I ain't heard of a ghost that could do that before," the old hunter says, clearly amused by the strange circumstance. "Normally they're tied to some place or something."

"I know," I say. "Why do you think we're calling you?"

"Beats me," Bobby almost laughs. "You've got the expert there with ya. If she ain't got any ideas, I'm not sure how much help I'm gonna be. I'll see if I got anything on the subject, though. She give you any possibilities on what could help her move on?"

"Sort of," I reply. "She's thinking it's some kind of unfinished business."

"I guess that's a start," Bobby says. "I'll look through some of my books and see if I can come up with something."

"Thanks, Bobby," I say before I end the conversation.

"What'd Bobby have to say?" Sammy asks, hardly glancing up from the cards he holds in his hands.

"He's looking into it," I reply and Sterling smiles.

"I told you he wouldn't know," she says, her own eyes on her cards. "Got any kings?"

"I've been thinking," Sammy says as he slides the king of diamonds across the green and blue bedspread towards the ghost of my friend. "Is there an object you might be attached to?"

"Yeah Sam," Sterling says with a sarcastic breath. "That's why I was able to walk to you guys."

"That's just it," Sammy goes on. "What if you were able to find us because it's something that we have. Did you see any other hunters on your way or stop anywhere for a long period of time?"

"I passed one hunter," Sterling slowly replies. "Stuck around long enough to find out about your dad, but I didn't know him well enough to pull the whole 'Boo!' thing on him. Other than him, no."

"I mean, all ghosts are different, right?" Sammy continues to explain his theory. "Maybe you took the road you did because that object was calling you to it."

"That's a thought," Sterling seems intrigued by my bother's outside the box idea. "What would you guys have that was mine, though?"

They both look to me for the answer.

"I don't have anything of yours..." I begin before I slowly trail off. It's true, I don't have anything of hers. What I do have is the bracelet she made for me years ago. It's long since become broken, worn out where a small brass charm once fit into a black leather loop to keep it around my wrist. But I still have it. I've never once thought about throwing it away and I plan on carrying it to my grave.

"What do you have, Dean?" Sammy knows I may be hiding something.

"Nothing," I shake my head. "I mean, there's a bracelet she made me, but I don't know how she could be attached to that."

"The one I made at that ski resort out in Colorado?" Sterling knows exactly what I'm talking about, her tone amused but touched at the same time. "You still have that?"

"Of course I do," I reply. "Why would I throw that away?"

"You sentimental bastard," she says with a smile.

"Is that the only thing you have from her?" Sammy interrogates.

"Yep," I reply. "Just the bracelet and a few good memories."

And that really awful one.

"Where is it?" Sammy asks and I don't respond. I know what he wants to do and I don't want him to. So instead I send him a cool stare.

"Come on, Dean," he huffs. "Just give me the bracelet. You want to help Sterling move on, don't you?"

Sort of.

We stare each other down for a moment while Sterling gives me a hopeful look.

"It's fine," she says after a moment of uncomfortable silence has passed. "I significantly doubt that's what's tying me here. If there ever was any DNA on it, it's long gone."

"It's worth a shot though, right?" Sam presses, looking to Sterling for support on his theory.

"I guess so," she just shrugs as my brother sends me that "told ya so" look he gets when he's won.

I let out a heavy sigh as I turn around. Wordlessly I rummage through my duffle bag, pretending to search for the object I know is kept safe in the side compartment. For a while, I debate pretending to have lost it. I don't want to part with it and I don't want to part with her.

_No_, I tell myself. _You've spent your whole life trying to do the right thing. Now's not the time to start being selfish._

At last I pull out the braided black leather band with the broken loop. A single brass, dime sized charm dangles from one end, a lone ancient symbol etched across its smooth surface in black. I hold it loosely in my hand as I give Sammy a sad look.

"Please don't make me do this," I plead with him.

"Dean," Sam says my name with an air of impatience. "Come on. It's for Sterling."

I glance at my friend who returns my sad gaze. I don't want to torch this. I don't want to let her go. I haven't even told her...

"I can do it," Sammy offers, his tone settling when he notices my grave hesitance.

"No," I speak in a voice barely above a whisper. "I will."

Quietly I take out my silver Zippo. A heavy sigh passes through my lips as I let the bracelet dangle between my index finger and my thumb. I give Sterling another sorrowful glance.

"Listen, Sterling," I speak before setting my sole prize from the girl I love ablaze. "If this works, I just want you to know..."

"I know," she tells me quietly.

No she doesn't.

I flick my lighter and allow the flame to lick the worn leather. It burns slowly and I have to rush to the bathroom sink where I drop it before it can reach my fingers. I watch with tears welling in my eyes as it withers and, at last, burns away from existence.

When I return to the main room, I see Sammy standing with a disappointed look on his face next to the ghost who still remains.

"God damn it," I mutter.

"Sorry, Dean," Sam apologizes. "I really thought it would work."

"It was a good idea," Sterling gently assures my brother. "But I guess we're back to the drawing board. Got any twos?"


	10. Witch Hunt

**2002**

The only momento I ever received from Sterling was that stupid bracelet I just burned. I'm not complaining. I mean, come on. I live on the road. I don't have a lot of room for personal possessions. That was just one of the few prizes I carried around the country and it kind of sucks that, once she's really gone, I won't have anything at all.

She made it about a year after the whole blizzard incident. I had spent a better part of that year flying solo on the hunting trails when she finally called me...

... okay, fine. She'd called me a few times before that. A month. And I'd answered a few of her calls. I don't know what I was trying to accomplish by keeping my distance from her. Maybe I was trying to blow off some steam. Maybe I was trying to forget the whole thing ever happened. What I was probably doing was throwing a hissy fit over the fact that someone else got what I wanted (something I will never admit if anyone asks, by the way).

And I wasn't completely alone. I hunted with dad more than a handful of times after I had allowed the anger to pass, and my path crossed Sterling's once or twice. Mostly I drank. I hunted and I banged hot chicks. I tried to forget her and that I ever liked her. But no matter how much I drank, no matter how many monsters I killed and how many girls I slept with, she was always at the back of my mind.

Anyway, she called me up and I was finally ready to really talk to her. And by "finally ready to talk", I probably mean "I couldn't take the distance anymore". I obviously couldn't forget her and I couldn't deny how badly I wanted her company.

"So you do know how to answer your phone," is what she said when I picked up.

"Yeah, sorry," I replied. "I've been kind of busy."

"You better have been," she said. "Or I'd be tempted to give you a swirly."

"I'd like to see you try," I told her with a small smile.

"Where are you?" she asked.

"Texas."

"Perfect," she spoke. "That's not too far. Listen, I've got a case up in Crested Butte, Colorado. I've been craving a hunt with you since that draugr we took down last year. You want to shoot on up and check it out with me?"

While the thought of seeing her was more than tempting, I couldn't help wonder who it was she wanted to hunt with; me or dad.

"Uh, sure," I slowly replied. "My dad's not with me, though."

"I know," she said. "If I wanted to hunt with him, I would have called him. Anyway, I took down a harpy with him last month."

My heart sank briefly at the news the woman I was in love with had been hunting with my dad. I quickly shook these feelings away when I realized it was me she wanted to see. This time anyway.

So I agreed to meet her and drove the beat up station wagon I had stolen some months back to the small ski town in the Rockies. When I arrived, I found her right where she promised she'd be waiting, in the only motel in town. This time around, her shaggy hairstyle was longer, falling just to her shoulders in a balanced blend of blonde and a frosty blue.

"I got the last room," she revealed to me when she welcomed me into the small, clean room. "I hope you don't mind sharing with a chick."

Mind? Hell, I could hardly contain the excitement.

"I think I'll survive," is what I casually replied with, throwing my duffel bag onto one of the queen sized beds. "What's going on?"

"I'm not sure," she admitted and I cocked a brow at her response.

"You're kidding me," I almost laughed. "You're telling me the Professor doesn't know what she's hunting?"

"Not yet," she rolled her eyes while she lit a cigarette. "Once in a while I stumble on a case that's not all that obvious."

"Fair enough," I said, sitting on my bed as she turned to gather a notebook from her black duffel bag. "What's the story then?"

"Some kids have started dying," she told me in an exhale of smoke, handing me a few articles. "All tourists from out of state."

"How are they dying?" I questioned as I briefly glanced over the clippings, attempting to keep my head on the case for the time being. Which was harder than you'd think. A, I was with the girl I'd been crushing on for the past year. B, we were hunting without anyone else. C, we were sharing a room. You see the pattern here, right?

"There have been five cases so far," she vocalized the things I could have read for myself. "Two of them died from heart attacks. One of them had a stroke. Another kid died from liver failure. The last one died of, get this, old age."

I furrowed my brows at that.

"They're dying of old people diseases?" I asked and she nodded. "Were any of them sick to begin with?"

"Not from what I found," she informed me, passing over a folder filled with medical records from all five victims. "According to these, up until they got here they were all healthy, happy kids."

"What are you thinking it could be?" I fished for a theory, but she had none.

"Hard to say," she replied as she extinguished her cigarette in a small glass cup. "At first I thought maybe it was some kind of vengeful spirit, but I can't find any local legend that would even begin to suggest a spirit that would go after children, let alone give 'em heart attacks."

"Okay," I said passing the research back to her. "Badge time?"

"Sort of," she said, rummaging through her bag once more to retrieve two plastic coated tags, one of which she handed to me. "I was thinking we work the reporter angle."

I studied the press pass that displayed a picture of me beside the name Joey Ramone.

"Nice," I smiled at the name she had chosen for me. "We work for World Ski Traveler, huh? Is that even a magazine?"

"Does it matter?" she said with a small roll of her eyes before handing me an expensive looking camera. "You be the photographer, I'll be the writer."

"Really?" I wrinkled my nose at her suggestion, hesitantly accepting the Nikon that probably cost more than the heap I drove there. "I'm not that great at taking pictures."

"I guess it's a good thing we're not really reporters then, huh?" she rolled her eyes again. "Anyway, it's not like they're going to ask to see them." She paused to give me a stern look. "I swear to god, if you break that thing I will break your leg."

"Why do you even have this?" I had to ask, looking over the high end and professional level camera I carefully held in my hands.

"I actually do photography on the side," she informed me with a small shrug. "It's an easy way to make a few bucks."

I assured her I would hold it like it were my own child before we ventured out in the brisk winter air and up the mountain. We stopped at the font desk at one of the resorts and checked out the "bunny hill", pretending to interview workers and children alike. Not gathering much information there we made it to the "children's center", aka the elaborate daycare for parents who preferred to do their skiing away from their kids. The large room held a tri-level plastic play center complete with a yellow tube slide and monkey bars. Long, short tables were set up around the room where kids could do any kind of craft imaginable from coloring to bracelet making. In one corner sat a small wooden playhouse and a box of costumes, in the other a large shelf of books and new looking toys.

The center was mostly empty when we arrived, something we attributed to the time of day (the standard dinner time). One of the few remaining people was actually an adult, a short blonde woman with dusty blue eyes and a timid demeanor.

"I'm Brodie Armstrong," Sterling introduced herself to the woman. "This is Joey. We're with World Ski Traveler and we're doing an article in next month's issue on family friendly destinations."

"Nice to meet you," the woman spoke with a shy but pleasant tone, extending a small hand for us to shake. "I'm Tara Ryder. I'm the director of the Children's Center here."

"Perfect," Sterling said with a smile. "You're just the person I wanted to talk to."

"Would you mind hanging out for a few minuets?" she politely asked. "I have a few phone calls I need to return before it gets too late."

"Not at all," Sterling replied. "We'll just... um... take a seat..."

Glancing around we noticed the only chairs were built for small children. We sat down anyway and awkwardly watched the few kids that remained run around the room while Tara excused herself to the back office.

"You wanna start taking pictures?" she asked me as she glanced over the craft supplies neatly spread out along the short table.

"Not really," I admitted. "This place isn't exactly giving me the monster vibe. Besides, I'd feel creepy taking pictures of kids while the baby-sitter's not looking." I paused and carefully extended the camera towards Sterling. "You wanna take some pictures? Since you're apparently an actual photographer and all."

"Nope," she shook her head before pulling a translucent box closer to her. "You're right, I'm not getting the supernatural vibe off this place either. I still wanna talk to Tara, but I'd rather do crafts while we wait."

"What are you, five?" I jokingly asked as she extracted a pair of rounded scissors and a roll of black leather chord from the box.

"I wish," she said with a small laugh, her eyes on the black chord she carefully cut into six even strands. "Life sure was a hell of a lot simpler back then."

Not for me. I didn't tell her that, though. Instead I tried to swallow the childhood memory and grabbed the closest coloring book and crayon box. If my best friend was going to revert back to adolescence, I wasn't going to miss the opportunity to do the same.

"Wow, I'm an asshole," she spoke in a guilty tone as she paused long enough to give me a sorrowful look. "I'm so sorry, I completely forgot how you got started in the hunter's life. You must think I'm a total dick."

"Don't worry about it," I told her with a small shrug before I really thought about it. After a few moments coloring I realized a small detail that made her apology somewhat strange.

"Wait," I spoke. "How did you know about that?"

I couldn't remember ever detailing my childhood to her. She knew my mom had died when I was a small kid, but it was all she knew. At least, that was all I had ever told her.

"Your dad told me," she spoke simply, her azure eyes back on the leather strands she knotted and twisted in a rhythmic pattern. I could feel my face growing hot upon hearing that.

"When?" I asked. "When you were hunting that harpy?"

"No actually," she replied. "It was when we were hunting a manticore." I must have made a face in distaste because she quickly added, "what was that about?"

"Hum?" I pretended to be busy with my coloring book. "Oh, nothing. It's just... You've been hunting with my dad?"

"We've gone on a few hunts together," she spoke with a small shrug. "You sound... disappointed."

"No," I lied. "It's just... My dad usually likes to hunt alone."

"Yeah, well, you ever hunt a manticore?" Sterling questioned and I didn't let on that I had no idea what a manticore even was. "It's hard for two people to take one down. Hunting one alone is just plain dumb."

I tried not to read too much into her hunting adventures with my dad. I didn't want to think about what they could be doing between hunts. Not when I had her all to myself.

An awkward silence fell upon us as we crafted at the short table. The remaining kids took off when their parents showed up, leaving Sterling and I alone. Whoever Tara was talking to, it sure wasn't a short conversation.

"You like it?" Sterling broke the silence to show me the bracelet she had made.

"Yeah," I quickly replied. "That's neat." I paused temporarily in thought as I continued my coloring project. "I think that's the first girlie thing I've ever seen you do."

"Yeah," she let loose a fond but sad smile. "My mom and I used to make bracelets when I was a kid." She paused to shake away her fleeting moment of sorrow away. "It's for you."

"Thanks," I said with a smile. I paused to rip out the picture I had been coloring, holding it up for her to see the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle. "I made this for you."

"Awesome," she giggled with a delighted smile as she accepted the picture. "Raphael was always my favorite. I'll treasure it forever."

I smiled as I watched her fold it up and carefully place it in the back pocket of her light colored jeans for safe keeping.

"Here," I said, extending my left wrist out to accept my own gift. "Put the bracelet on."

"I will," she said. "I just need a bead or something to tie at the end."

I took a quick glance in the bracelet kit box. One of the dividers was filled with brass, dime sized charms with black symbols etched across their smooth surface.

"Here," I said, selecting one of the charms. "Use this."

As I placed it in her hand, the smile on her face slowly began to disappear. Suddenly her interest had shifted from our kid play to searching for the still absent Tara.

"What?" I asked when she maintained her look of concern.

"Do you know what this is?" she asked me in a low tone.

"Sanskrit for fish?" I made a non-serious guess.

"No," she shook her head, staring at it. "I've seen this before."

"Okay..." I said. "Where?"

"Witchcraft."

So it was a witch we were hunting.

"I'm so sorry," Tara returned from her office with a haggard look on her face. "That took much longer than expected."

Within seconds, Sterling was on her feet and making a quick advance on the young woman with that scary "don't fuck with me" look I remembered from high school.

"What are you doing to these poor kids?" she demanded, getting right in the woman's face. Any pleasant demeanor Tara once had washed away at Sterling's loud accusation.

"What...?" Tara fumbled, looking between me and Sterling. "What do you...?"

"This," Sterling shoved the brass charm under the poor woman's nose. "What the hell are you using this for?"

"I don't... I'm not... I couldn't..." Tara stammered, clearly agitated by my friend's tone.

"Calm down, Sterling," I spoke, jumping up from my own seat to defend the poor woman. "I don't think she's doing anything."

"Where did you get these?" Sterling pressed, her angry tone relentless and harsh.

"I... I brought them from home," Tara confessed. "I..." She trailed off for a moment as a frown creased upon her otherwise terrified face. "I thought your name was Brodie?"

"Not important," Sterling barked.

"Sterling!" I said again. "Relax! I don't think she's doing anything."

"She knows what these are," Sterling insisted, staring down the blonde as she spoke. "I wanna know where these came from and what she's doing to these poor kids."

Tara remained silent as she looked between us.

"You're not journalists," she stated, her expression softening into understanding. "You're hunters, aren't you?"

"Is that a confession?" Sterling demanded to know as she sent me a sideways "told you so" glance.

"It's not what you think," Tara said. "These are protection charms. I brought them from home because something here is hurting these poor kids."

"Something or someone?" Sterling grilled and Tara blushed.

"Someone," she slowly admitted. Sterling stared down at her for a moment, determining the woman's sincerity.

"And this is the best you could do?" she asked skeptically, still holding the charm under the woman's nose. "Hand out protection charms to kids who might not even wear them?"

"Look, I'm just a Wiccan," Tara spoke. "I can't even begin to match the magic this witch has."

"You know who it is?" Sterling wanted to know, her tone calming a degree or so.

"Yes," Tara nodded vigorously. "I mean, I think so. I just figured it out."

Sterling looked down at the brass charm in her hand before glancing back up at Tara. Gradually she began to back off, but not by much.

"You believe me?" Tara asked hopefully.

"I believe a witch is using dark hoodoo to gank these poor kids," Sterling said. "But I don't know if I trust you."

Tara sent me long a look, hoping I would take her side.

"Sorry," I shrugged. "I'm with her."

Tara let loose a short, anxious sigh.

"Come on," Sterling said, taking a tight grip on Tara's elbow. "You're coming with us."

"Where are you taking me?" she nervously asked as Sterling lead her towards the door.

"With us," Sterling repeated cooly. "We're not letting you out of our sight until we know you're not lying."


	11. Witch Hunt Part II

**2002**

We brought Tara the Wiccan back to our motel where we, more or less, kept her hostage until Sterling could confirm the symbol on these charms were, in fact, for protection purposes. When her claims were verified, we apologized for the hostility and told her we could help, but only if she told us everything she knew about the witch we were after. Even after Sterling's threatening attitude, Tara was more than cooperative and strangely understanding about the way she had been treated. She supplied us with a name, the woman's home address and even a work schedule.

"You seem to know a lot about this chick for having just figured out who she is," I told her skeptically.

"Yeah," Tara said, lowering her head in embarrassment. "She's my stepsister. We've both been Wiccan for a while. I didn't want to believe she had gone full blown witch but it makes sense. She's been kind of extra bitchy lately. And if there's anything she hates more than tourists, it's kids."

"She sounds like a real peach," I said with a sarcastic breath. "Listen, Tara. We appreciate your help on this. Really, we do. But you do realize we have to kill her, right?"

Tara lowered her head again and released a small sigh.

"I know," she spoke. "I'm aware of what you do with people like her."

"Why are you helping us then?" I asked, still a little skeptical.

"She has to be stopped," is how Tara replied simply but honestly. "And I don't think talking to her is going to do much good." She paused. "She's out of town tonight. She'll be back tomorrow. She cleans rooms at one of the resorts up on the mountain. Your best bet at catching her is after her shift."

We thanked Tara for her help and sent her on her way, both of us trusting not only the information she supplied, but also that Tara wouldn't tattle on us.

I probably don't have to tell you what I wanted to do with our night off. My first plan was to go to the bar and have a few drinks with Sterling. Add the fact it was just the two of us sharing a room for the night and, well, you probably get the idea.

We did go to the bar, but that was the only thing that went as I had planned it in my head. We had a few drinks and a few laughs, but something was a little off about her. Something was bothering her and it showed more with each drink she consumed.

By the time we were sufficiently drunk and alone in our hotel room, she was in boarder line freak out mode. When I finally asked her about it, she almost lost it.

"I'm... okay..." she choked the lie from her lips as a tear began to slide down her face. She turned away from me, attempting to hide her sorrows as she struggled to remove her boots. My heart broke a little at seeing her so sad. Up until then I had seen Sterling in two different forms; playful and seriously scary. I didn't even think it was possible for her to cry.

"I'm having a hard time believing that," I said. "What's going on?"

"It's... I'm..." she stumbled drunkenly on the words she emotionally forced out. "I've never killed anyone before."

"You've never killed anyone..." I slowly echoed, the alcohol making it difficult for me to process her statement. "Why would you be upset..." I stopped when it hit me. "Is this about the witch we have to gank?"

Wordlessly she nodded as the tears streamed down her face. Here she stood, this fearless warrior who was one of the best in the business, bawling her eyes out because she had to slay a witch. It was almost touching to see it, but heart wrenching at the same time.

"Hey, it's okay," I tried to coax her as I gently placed a hand on her back. "You can't think of her as a person. She's not really anymore."

Sterling gently laid herself upon her bed with a long, hard sigh. She heard my words but they didn't bring her much comfort.

"You've hunted lots of things that look like people," I pointed out as I sat down on the bed beside her. "Like that wraith you took down a couple years ago. He looked like a person, right? And that skin walker you encountered a few months ago. He looked like a regular old Joe for a while too, right?"

"Yeah," Sterling nodded, her speech a bit slurred. "But all those things I've killed... they look like people on the outside, but they're really ugly fuckers."

"Sterling," I gently began. "I assure you, anyone who willingly kills multiple children is an ugly fucker. Especially if they're using magic to do it."

Quietly she thought about it for a while. The expression on her face told me she knew I was right. While this perspective brought her a little comfort, I could tell she still felt uneasy about it.

"Lets not think about it for now," I said when she gave no response. I reached for the remote on the small bedside table beside me and turned the TV set on. "What do you want to watch?"

"It doesn't matter," she absently yawned.

Glancing down at her I could tell she didn't have much time left in the waking world. Between the alcohol and her needless worries, she had worn herself into exhaustion.

"I'll get up," I said and she shook her head.

"No," she said sleepily. "You're fine."

While I can't deny my disappointment the evening didn't go quite as I had hoped, I also can't deny how wonderful it felt just lying with her. At one point, just before sleep claimed her, she had snuggled herself into me. And I cherished every fucking minuet of it. Even when I finally drifted to sleep, I was elated at how comfortable she felt in my arms. How amazing and right it felt. How I hoped time could stop and we could just stay like that forever.

The next morning, Sterling apologized for her sappy behavior.

"I can't believe I did that," she shook her head shamefully.

"It's fine," I assured her.

"Did you sleep okay?" she asked, not wanting to discuss her moment of weakness at length. "Sorry I hogged the bed."

"I slept like a baby," I told her honestly and she gave me a small smile.

"Good," she said with an air of relief. "Alright. We've got a witch to put down. We should get going."

We packed our belongings into my temporary vehicle and prepared for the witch hunt. I tried to focus on the job, but my mind kept straying. Last night wasn't awful. I mean, snuggling with her was the closest I'd ever been to her and I loved it. But I kept hoping for more. I kept wishing that, after that witch was gone, she wouldn't disappear. That we would get even closer that night and maybe every night after that for the rest of our lives.

I kept on thinking about all of that until we broke into the witch's house early that evening. It was pretty disgusting, the things we found in her house. A dead, black cat had been laid out on the kitchen table on a white, bloodied cloth. Pieces of what used to be a rabbit soaked in its own blood in a glass bowl on the kitchen counter beside a thick, ancient looking book with yellowing pages. Two hearts from I don't know what kind of animal laid on a baking sheet with knives stuck in them. A line of jars sat on the counter behind the dead rabbit, but they weren't filled with your typical kitchen supplies. Some were filled with dried herbs and other plants. One was filled with black dirt. Another was filled with random animal bones while another was filled with human teeth.

"Tara was definitely on the level," I spoke, glancing over the array of witchy tools. "This bitch is our witch."

"You gotta be all sorts of crazy to get into this crap," Sterling agreed, wrinkling her nose at the objects around the room. She let out a heavy sigh as she glanced at the clock on the stove in the kitchen. "According to Tara, she should be home any minuet."

"You don't have to do it," I gently told her and she shrugged.

"We'll see how this plays out," she said, attempting to stifle the nervousness in her breath. "Anyway, I gotta get used to it, right? I have a hard time believing she's going to be the only one I'm going to encounter. I'd be a lousy hunter if I couldn't gank a witch."

The words were hardly out of her mouth when the door handle began to twist open. Sterling and I quickly drew our guns from our jacket pockets and tried to find a place to hide, but it was too late. As soon as our guns were out, a young, green eyed brunette stood in the doorway. It didn't take her more than a second to figure out what we were doing there.

"Hunters, right?" she spoke, slamming the door behind her with a fury. "You must be new. You just made the biggest mistake of your life."

She waved her hand, a simple motion that caused our guns to fly from our grasp. With both hands she pushed the air in my direction. We may have been a good fifteen feet apart, but I flew back and into the wall. When she turned to face Sterling, her face fell.

"You might be my first witch," Sterling spoke in a low growl. "But you're not going to be my last."

It happened before I could blink. Sterling had thrown a silver dagger in the witch's direction and, as I had witnessed back when we were 17, effortlessly achieved a bullseye. And when I say bullseye, I mean the blade found a spot between the witch's eyes.

The witch dropped dead to the carpet below as I hastily jumped to my feet. I glanced between the brunette and Sterling who stared down at what she had done.

"That wasn't so bad," her lips spoke despite the small quiver in her voice.

"It gets easier," I told her. "We should get out of here, though."

I didn't have to tell her twice. We wiped the place clean of any DNA we may have left, gathered our guns, and got out of there.

"You can just drop me off in the next town," she quietly instructed me once we made it back to the stolen car I was driving.

"Really?" I asked, disappointed by her request. "You don't want to go have a victory drink?"

"I've got another case in the works," she told me with a small smile.

"What do you have?" I wanted to know as I drove out of town. "I'll go with you."

"It'd be fun," she spoke. "But I think I've got it covered. Anyway, I need to pick up my car. I left it with a guy a few states over. I've already got a bus ticket."

"Alright," I slowly agreed with a heavy sigh. "Just don't wait another year before we go hunting again."

"Don't wait that long before you answer my calls," she returned. She paused to dig around in her jacket pocket. "Here," she said, extending a black object towards me. "I finished it. I think it's safe, since it's got a protection charm on it now."

"Thanks," I said, accepting the handmade token from the woman I would never stop loving. "I'll treasure it forever."


	12. Funeral At The Roadhouse

**2006**

"I feel really stupid right now."

I don't blame her. She's lying in a black, maple wood coffin padded with white satin bedding, all of which sits on the well used pool table at the Roadhouse. I'd feel stupid, too.

I'm giving all credit to Sammy on this one. Not that I'm not thinking about how Sterling can move on. I'm just saying, laying in a coffin - a stolen coffin, by the way - is probably not going to help.

"You're supposed to be quiet," Sam hushes her. "You're dead, remember? No one talks at their own funeral."

"Ghosts do," Sterling says and Sam rolls his eyes. "How is this supposed to help me again?"

"This is everyone's chance to say goodbye to you," Sam explains. "They can say what they need to say and maybe it'll help you move on."

"It's not a terrible idea," Sterling admits, although I think she's just trying to make Sammy feel better about this brainstorm. "But don't you think it'd work better if I were telling them goodbye?"

"It's a different kind of funeral," Sam tries to cover up the small flaw in his plan.

"The kind where the deceased talks back?" Sterling says with a smile.

"Fine," Sam says. "How about you lay there quietly and once everyone's had their say, you can tell them whatever you need to say."

"Fine," Sterling begrudgingly agrees, wiggling around the tight box. "Where did this come from, anyway?"

"You like it?" Ash speaks up from his seat at the bar. "I lifted that puppy myself this mornin' from the funeral parlor." He pauses to take a long swig from his brown beer bottle. "Should probably get it back at some point, though. I think they were planin' on usin' it later."

"Ew," Sterling wrinkles her nose.

"We got hunters comin' through," Ellen walks through her bar towards us. "You boys ready?"

I glance over at Bobby and Jo who line up all the chairs in neat rows facing the coffin.

"As ready as we'll ever be," I say.

"Thanks for letting us use your place," Sammy politely gives Ellen our gratitude. "We really appreciate it."

"Ain't a problem, fellas," Ellen speaks kindly, glancing down at Sterling's ghost. "It seemed kind of fitting for a hunter's funeral. Besides, we all knew Sterling here. It's my honor we could put together something for her. It's more'n most hunters get."

"Thanks Ellen," Sterling says with a small, grateful smile.

"You want me to start letting them in?" Jo calls from the door and Ellen nods.

"Okay," Sammy turns to me as the bar begins to fill with hunters. "Once everyone is seated, you give the eulogy."

"Me?" I gulp. "Why me?"

"She's your friend, Dean," Sammy argues. He gives Sterling a quick glance. "I mean, I guess she's my friend now too, but you know her a hell of a lot better than anyone in this room."

I try not to groan at the task Sam is trying to assign me. I don't want to insult my best... er, only friend at her own funeral. But public speaking has never been on my list of things I'm good at. That and I'm still not ready to let her go. Not entirely.

"I'll do it," Bobby volunteers when I've hesitated a minuet too long. "I knew her pretty well. Er, know her."

"Thanks, Bobby," Sterling says.

"No, I'll do it," I change my mind as hunters I don't know (or even knew existed) gradually begin to fill the stiff, wooden seats.

_Let her go_,_ Dean_, I keep having to tell myself. _Really, she's already gone_.

Once everyone - all two dozen or so people - has found a seat and conversations have settled into silence, I stand with my back to the open coffin and glance nervously about the crowd of strangers. Sammy and Bobby sit in the front row beside Ellen and Jo while Ash holds his seat at the bar. All eyes are on me now. Even Sterling's.

Sammy gives me a small, encouraging but sad smile as I take in a long, heavy sigh.

"Welcome, hunters," I begin in a loud voice that echoes through the silent bar. "For those of you who don't know me, I'm Dean Winchester."

Nobody says a word but nobody looks away. There are so many things I could say, but where do I begin? What do I say about my friend to a room full of strangers?

"Sterling Powers was my best friend," I slowly share. "She was an amazing person, a fantastic hunter and a truly unique soul."

Not bad, not bad. I've gotta have more to say...

"I wish I could say she went out doing what she loved," I keep going. "But her life wasn't cut short the way she wanted it to. Her life ended in a terrible car wreck, but I know, if there's a heaven, she'll soon be hunting monsters in the sky."

I look again at my brother who maintains his encouraging but sorrowful smile. Bobby hangs his head and I know the loss of our friend is at last hitting him.

"Sterling wasn't just a great hunter," I continue. "She was also a pretty damn good photographer."

This isn't getting any easier.

"I already said she was my best friend," my throat tightens. "But she was more than that to me. She was family. When she died, she took a little piece of me with her and... well..."

I'm nearly choking on my own words now. I've never been this open to my own brother, let alone a crowd of strangers.

"I'm going to miss her. And I won't ever forget her."

And I'm done. I can't go on. Sure I could find more things to talk about, but at this point, my own lips won't allow the words.

Bobby notices this and he quickly jumps up from his seat. He joins me at the coffin to take over as I turn away from the eyes that keep staring.

"You all probably know me," Bobby speaks. "The Professor was one of the best hunters I ever had the pleasure of working with. Not to discredit any of you fine folks. But you all knew her and knew damn well her title of Professor was deserved. She knew more'n I did about the life we lead and that's sayin' something. And Dean's right. I don't think a day'll go by where I don't think about her, either. Which just proves, even when she's moved on to the afterlife, she ain't really goin' too far. She's gonna be with both Dean and me for the rest of our lives, and I'd be willing to wager she'll be with all of you, too."

I knew Bobby should have just delivered the damn eulogy. What he said was so moving, just thinking about it is about to move me to tears.

Oh, Christ. I'm about to cry...

"I know most of you are aware of the... unique situation of the funeral you've gathered here for," Bobby goes on as I try like hell not to let the tears spill. "So we'd like to invite all of you up to say goodbye to her yourselves. And, well, if you haven't been made aware of what's goin' on, don't be surprised if she responds."

Hunters slowly rise to pay their last respects. Which is when I loose it. I can't stay here anymore or they might see...

I flee the bar as the tears begin to sting too badly to hold onto. The warm, midday sun taunts me with its happy warmth as I struggle to wipe the moisture from my face. Birds chirp pleasantly from the blue sky as a comfortable breeze brushes itself against my cheeks. Everything that's happening outside is the exact opposite of how I feel, and it almost makes me feel worse.

"Dean," I can hear Sammy approach somewhere behind me. "Are you okay?"

I could tell Sam this is all too much. That dad's death hurt more than I could take. That Sterling's death pushed my threshold for pain up a notch before shattering it. That losing not one but two of the very few people I've ever been close to in my entire life is carving away at my heart and eating away at my mind.

But I don't. I don't want to lie to him, one of the only people I've got left in this world. So I don't say anything at all.

"I know you don't want to talk about it," Sam says when I remain silent. "And I'm not going to try to force you into it or tell you that talking about it will help."

For a minuet I think I'm so grief stricken and heartbroken that I'm actually hallucinating. Is Sam really saying this?

"I just wanted to remind you that I'm still here," he continues. "For everything."

I blink wildly at his words, blocking tears from flowing any further down my face. That was not at all what I expected Sam to say at a moment like this. Not what I was expecting, but exactly what I needed to hear.

"I'm really gonna miss her, Sammy," the words bubble out in place of the tears, my back still turned to my younger brother.

"I know," Sam gently returns.

"I really loved her," I reveal without turning around.

"Yeah," Sam says. "I know."

I frown as I slowly turn to look at him. He stands casually a good six feet away, his hands stuffed in his jacket pockets. His face is laced with that knowing empathy he'll get when his understanding surpasses knowledge.

"Come on, Dean," Sam responds to my questioning glance. "I've seen the way you look at her."

I guess I haven't been as stealthy about it as I thought.

"I don't think she knows," I admit and Sam folds his brows into mild confusion.

"I don't know how she couldn't know," he says. "I think it's kind of obvious." Pause. "Have you ever told her?"

"Not exactly," I confess as it hits me. I had almost forgotten about it. The second and only other bad memory I have of her.

"You should tell her," Sam advises. "Now's your chance and if this works, it's your last one. I mean, it could help her if she knows."

I let out a long sigh as I stare at the ground.

"Dean..." he begins, uncertain he wants to say what exactly is on his mind. "Do you even want to help her move on?"

"Yes," I sigh and it's not a lie. Not completely. I don't want to let her go, but I do want her to move on. She deserves to.

"I know it sucks, Dean," Sam goes on, sympathetic but borderline nagging at the same time. "But you need to let her go."

"Yeah," I say in a voice no louder than a whisper.

"Come on," he says. "Let's go back inside."

What he's really saying is "go tell her already".

I sigh again but I follow him. Sam's right. It could help her to know. And I do need to let her go.

When we return to the bar, the last of the two dozen or so hunters is saying their last goodbyes to her. Some stand off in a corner wiping tears from their eyes. Others sit around one of the tables with a deck of cards and a round of suds. Bobby and Ellen stand at the head of the coffin, talking with a couple of hunters and the ghost they've all gathered to pay their last respects to.

So far, another one of Sam's ideas hasn't led us to much beyond memories that keep resurfacing. Most of them I like, but there's that other one that won't leave me a lone now...

And at least I still have time to tell her...

"Well, this whole thing wasn't a bad idea," Bobby says as Sam and I approach. "It was kind of a long shot, but I've had worse ideas. Anyhow, we all got to say goodbye."

"Hey, Bobby," Sam speaks. "I think there might be something wrong with the car you're letting us borrow. You mind checking it out?"

"I'm sure there is," is Bobby's immediate response. That's before he catches the way I stare down at the ghost who smiles up from her coffin.

"I'll take a look under the hood though," he slowly says before walking away with my brother.

"I've got a few things I need to take care of in the back," Ellen catches the idea and quietly excuses herself. The remaining hunters respectfully back away and join in conversations elsewhere, leaving Sterling and I alone.

"Listen, Sterling," I gradually begin as my heart beats rapidly in my chest. "I need to tell you something."

"Alrighty," she says, sitting upright. She looks at me, attentively batting her large, azure eyes at me.

"Listen," I nervously begin. "I should have said this to you sooner. A lot sooner. And I tried."

God knows I've tried. Saying it to her now is no easier than it was when she was actually alive. When I could have had a chance to prove it to her.

"Sterling," I breathe. "I love you."

"Oh, Dean," she says and her eyes almost sparkle. "I love you too."

The way she tells me this isn't the same as how I feel.

"No," I shake my head, staring into her. "I love you."

"I know," she whispers back.

Telling her this didn't bring the effect I had hoped for. I don't know what I expected. Maybe I thought she would leap into my arms and tell me she loved me, truly loved me back. That she suddenly realized that she couldn't move on if I was still here. That I was what was keeping her here and she'd wait for me so we could move on together.

But it's not.

I do feel a little better now that I've said it.

"So what's next?" Ash asks, approaching with a beer bottle in his fist.

"What do you mean?" Sterling asks.

"This whole funeral thing was to try to get ya to move on, right?" Ash replies. "So what are you going to try next?"

"Donno," Sterling shrugs with a small sigh.

"If you ask me," Ash says, "I'd say you've got some unfinished business someplace."

"We didn't ask you," I say and Sterling gives me a "play nice" look.

"You got any family business still floatin' around?" Ash suggests. "I don't mean to pry, but all I seen here today were a bunch a hunters. Didn't you have a boyfriend or a husband or something?"

For a second, Sterling looks completely deflated, an emotion that she only briefly allows us to see. She catches herself and replaces her fleeting moment of outward emotion with a small smile.

"I had someone," she reveals. "But I haven't seen him in a while. He's dead now, too."

My heart sinks a little bit. I've never liked hearing about her with other men. Not now, not ever.

"Oh," Ash says. "What about your parents?"

"My dad passed a few years ago," Sterling mentions. "He thought I was just a drifter, but we patched things up before he died."

"And your mom?"

"Her mom is dead, you dick," I hastily and grumpily state.

I know he's just trying to help, but the constant questions that prompt more memories for both of us are getting old. And I know he drinks a lot, but if he knows Sterling, he should know a little more about her background than what he seems to.

"Well..." Sterling gives Ash's last question some actual thought. I frown.

"You told me your mom died in a fire when you were ten," I say.

"It's true, she did," Sterling says. "But she wasn't my birth mother."

Now I feel like the asshole who knows nothing about her.

"Who's your birth mother?" I ask and she just shrugs.

"I don't know," she admits and Ash gives us a short "your welcome" glance before taking a swig from his bottle.

"How come you never told me about that?" I want to know and Sterling shrugs again.

"It didn't seem important," she says. "She wasn't really a part of my life. Even though she gave me life..."

"I say that's grounds for unfinished business," Ash states and I roll my eyes.

"Yes, thank you Ash," I begrudgingly say with a hint of sarcasm.

Thanks indeed, Ash. You've successfully caused me to think about that one stupid memory I've been trying not to think about all damn afternoon. At least he actually came up with a better idea than a ghost funeral.


	13. Smooth Moves And Heartbreak

**2003**

After that witch hunt, I saw Sterling a little more frequently. Not as often as I would have liked, but I stopped trying to forget her. We took turns calling each other to check in and see where the other was. We hunted a few monsters and spirits and met up a hand full of times when we happened to be nearby.

Over the course of a year, I really got to know her and, the more I did, the more I loved her. To me, she was perfect. Our taste in music was almost identical. When we talked, she always had interesting theories or things to say, never taking interest in gossip or celebrity drama or whatever else normal girls talk about. Her style was all her own, a self reflection of her creative, artistic nature and love of rock and roll.

Her hunting tactics were always improving, which never ceased to be amazing. She was good from the beginning. I mean, anyone who can take down a windego on their first hunt is probably a natural. So imagine what several years of improvement did for her.

Her style of hunting was kind of unique. She actually made it fun. She had found the perfect balance between casual and serious and it worked well for her. She'd crack jokes, make bets and sometimes flat out mock whatever we were hunting.

And she didn't just hunt them. She actually studied them. How they moved, how they stalked their pray, how they lived. And, at the end of each hunt, she would draw their image in a sketchbook or a loose piece of blank paper and write her findings on each creature on the back. There was seldom an actual system to her notes, not one that made sense to anyone but her anyway. But the fact she wrote or drew anything at all and how passionately she recorded the information always made me realize how much she loved this life. Our life. The hunter's life.

With each meeting, each hunt and each phone call, I found myself falling deeper and deeper in love with her. She wasn't even trying. It just happened. And she didn't just make me want to be with her. She made me want to be a better person. She made me want to improve myself so I could someday be worthy of having her.

So after a year of really getting to know the girl I had been crushing on for two years, imagine how badly I had it for her. I couldn't contain it anymore after that long. I was tired of waiting for "the right moment", tired of just lusting for her.

So I decided to make my "right moment". Decided to stop thinking about making her mine and just do it. Considering the dangers our job came with, I knew my window of opportunity could have been very short. I didn't want to get eaten by a werewolf or accidentally let a ghost get the best of me before I could make a move.

I made my first and only attempt one evening after successfully taking down a vengeful spirit in Tennessee. We were having a victory drink in some dive bar near the motel where we were both staying. I remember sitting beside her in a tattered booth, both of us dirty and tired from our night's work. But this didn't stop the joyful smile that seemed to be permanently plastered across her face.

Which I absolutely loved about her. No matter how tough, how dirty and backbreaking the job was, she almost always came out of it happier than she was going in. Her azure eyes always sparkled a little more and her face was always brighter.

I digress.

That time around, her hair was long and blonde. Just blonde with a hint of curl from the humid night air.

"I don't think I've ever seen your hair one color," I casually commented as we sipped our after work whiskey. "At least, not a normal color."

"Yeah," she spoke as she shook her red plaid shirt from around her shoulders to reveal the black Led Zeppelin t-shirt she wore beneath it. "It was for a wedding. I thought it would look nice."

"Oh?" I said. "Whose wedding?"

"Oh, just some hunters," she vaguely and casually replied with a fond smile. "This is my natural color. I think."

"Well I like it," I told her, casually sliding closer to her. "It does look nice."

"Thanks," she said. "Don't get used to it. I was thinking about going red next."

"I like redheads, too," I told her, boldly inching even closer. "I think I'd like any color on you."

"Thanks," she said again with a small laugh. "As long as it's not a green Mohawk, right?"

"I donno," I said, still inching towards her. "I have a hard time imagining you'd look bad in anything."

"Oh... Kay..." she slowly replied, eyeing me as the distance between our bodies rapidly shortened.

"I'm serious," I told her. "You're beautiful."

"Thanks...?" she said, growing nervous at my advances, something I misread as a good thing.

"I'm about to do something," I almost warned her. "And I've wanted to do it for a long, long time."

I didn't give her much time to react. My whispered words had barely left my tongue before I planted a long, hard kiss upon her full, defined lips.

"What are you doing?" she backed away from my affections almost as quickly as they had been given. To this day I don't know what's more disheartening; how quickly she rejected my advances or how she didn't even begin to return them.

"I was just... I thought..." I stammered. I had pictured her reaction going several different ways. None of which involved her backing away from me.

"Sterling, I like you," I went with a good old fashioned confession when I couldn't think of anything else to say. "A lot."

"Oh, Dean," she said as she gave me a somewhat pained look. "I like you, too. But not like that."

That was a first. It's seldom, even now, that I face rejection from a pretty face. And it just figured the one time I did have to experience it, it came from her.

I could feel my heart begin to tear. It was like that blizzard all over again. The girl I loved more than anything in the world didn't even remotely begin to return my feelings for her.

I backed away, hurt and deflated before I silently took a long sip of whiskey.

"Dean, I'm sorry," Sterling apologized when I remained silent. "You're my best friend. You're like family to me. You're handsome and wonderful and I love you, but not like that. I can't help how I feel."

"I just thought, maybe we could be more than that," I muttered into my drink. "Just for one night."

That last part was a bit of a lie. I didn't want it for one night. I wanted it every night. Forever.

"Dean, I'm sorry," Sterling said again. "It's just..."

"Yeah, I get it," I muttered. "You don't like me like that." Pause. "Why? Why don't you?"

"Oh, Dean," she sighed. "Don't take it the wrong way. I mean, you're a great guy and, let's be honest, you do come in a pretty package. But you and me, we're too much a like. And, well, you're not really my type."

"What is your type?" I asked, even though I didn't really want to know.

"I don't know," she said with another sigh. "I've always had a thing for older guys."

"I'm older," I pointed out with a note of desperation and she gave her azure eyes a roll.

"By four days," she said with a cocked brow. "Besides," she continued, her cheeks almost flushing as she spoke. "I'm... I'm kind of seeing someone."

And there it went. That tear ripped my heart completely and all hope came crumbling down.

"You're what?" I asked, using anger to cover up how disappointed I was. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"I knew you'd react this way," she confessed. "I didn't want to loose you. I hardly get to see you as is."

"Who...?" I asked, not sure I really wanted to know.

"He's another hunter," she spoke in a low tone.

I could tell she felt no sorrow for her involvement with another man. What she hated was what this knowledge was doing to me.

"Is it serious?" I wanted to know and she sighed.

"Yes," she whispered.

I didn't want to know anything else. Quickly I slammed the remains of my drink and wordlessly left the bar for my motel room. The hurt I felt was unreal. How could this be? The only woman I'd ever felt this much for, wanted this badly, didn't begin to return my feelings. _And_ she was with another man.

To me, that was just proof I was meant to be alone for an eternity. If the one person I cared that much for couldn't be mine, who would? And don't give me that "there are plenty of fish in the sea" shit. You can keep your fish and the whole damn ocean. I'm not settling. I couldn't possibly. Not after knowing a woman like her.


	14. Meet The Parent

**2006**

"This is it," Sammy points to the large, crumbling blue house I've slowly stopped this piece of shit car in front of. "This is her last known address."

A wooden sign in the yard proclaims the house we've come to is called "Phoenix House of Hope". The three of us gaze at the structure that clearly used to belong to a person of wealth. A shaded porch wraps around the entire house where a few people stand in pajama pants and flannel shirts, all smoking cigarets and sipping from green and black energy drink cans.

"From one addition to another," I observe.

This Phenix House of Hope - located near the Atlantic coast in Virginia - is an addiction treatment facility.

"Of course my birth mother's an addict," Sterling sighs from the back seat, her azure eyes blinking nervously at the place.

Despite the fact Sterling had no idea who her birth mother was, it didn't take Ash more than an hour to dig up the proper records it would take to find the woman. She's known more about her own mother in the last two days than she's known in the last 27 years. Probably more than Sterling ever cared to know.

Leanna Auburn Stevens. Age 52. In and out of several jails for the past twenty or so years, mostly for possession charges. Infrequently employed. Now residing here, at the treatment house.

"I can't believe I'm related to this woman," Sterling lets out a long sigh. "Chalk one up to nurture."

"You don't know that," Sammy tries to be optimistic about the situation. "Maybe her parents were hard working, sober people."

"That just sounds boring," I say and Sam sends me a glare. "I mean... Maybe they were badasses? Hardworking badasses?"

"Thanks," Sterling rolls her eyes. "By the way, if any one you share any of this information with anyone after I move on, I will kick your ass from beyond the afterlife."

"I don't know how that would work," Sammy says. "But your secret is safe with me."

"So, you wanna do this?" I ask. "Or are we just going to stare out the window all day?"

"I'm as ready as I'll ever be," Sterling sighs. "I'm not the one who has to talk to her, though. Are you boys ready?"

"Sure," Sammy shrugs.

"Cool," Sterling says. "I'm gonna go into invisible mode for obvious reasons."

"Really?" I say with an insincere disappointment in my tone. "You don't want to scare the crap out of some recovering addicts? Make 'em think they're having an acid flashback?"

"Tempting," Sterling admits this would be mildly entertaining. "I think we should just get this over with."

Right. So she can finally move on.

"I'll be in the room with you guys," Sterling says before she can go invisible.

"What do you want us to say?" Sammy asks and Sterling shrugs.

"I don't know yet," she says. "When I think of something, I'll whisper it to you."

I shudder. Sterling might be a close friend, but any ghost whispering anything in your ear is creepy as shit.

Sammy and I make our way up the walk with the now transparent Sterling. We request to see Leanna at the desk where we're forced to sign in before the attendant gives us the woman's room number. The door is wide open when we get there, exposing a blue painted room with two single sized metal framed beds and two tall dressers.

Leanna sits in a wooden chair by the window, casually flipping through a celebrity gossip magazine as she puffs on a cigarette. Her face looks wrinkled and worn from years of drug abuse and cigarettes, her light brown hair streaked with strands of silver.

"Leanna Stevens?" Sammy gently speaks as we slowly enter her bedroom. The woman looks up at us with a confused look laced across her face.

Looks like Sterling got the best part of her birth mother. They both have wide, bright azure eyes that could pierce a soul. As far as features go, that's about it. From the sounds of everything else, that's all she got in the genetics department.

"Yes?" the woman replies in a deep, scratchy voice that sounds more like a 70 year old man than a 53 year old woman.

"Hi," Sammy speaks as we awkwardly enter the room. "We came to talk to you about your daughter."

"I don't have no kids," Leanna speaks and I can almost hear Sterling shudder at the terrible grammar.

"You had a baby girl," I half insist, half asks. "Born January 28th, 1979 in Flint, Michigan. Her father was Terrance Powers?"

This information sounds more than familiar to the woman who closes her magazine and gives us her full attention.

"Uh, yeah," she slowly admits. "Who are you?"

"I'm Dean Winchester," I introduce myself to her. "This is my brother, Sam. We're friends of Sterling's."

"Oh," Leanna says, still confused as to why we're here. "What can I do for you boys?"

Sam and I exchange an awkward look. How do you tell a woman who gave up her kid and every parenting rights that her only daughter is dead?

"Sterling asked us to find you if anything happened to her," Sammy slowly begins. "Do you mind if we sit?"

"Sure," Leanna says and we each take a seat in the empty chairs across from her. "What's going on? What happened?"

"Sterling was involved in a car accident a few months ago," Sammy gently breaks it to her. "She, uh... she didn't make it."

Leanna blinks. For a moment, I could almost see her own life flash before her very eyes in a collage of regrets and what-ifs.

"Oh," she says after a minuet of silence. "I'm... I'm sorry to hear that." Pause. "So, what? Sterling wanted you two to let me know when she died?"

"No," Sammy jumps at the question. "It's not like that at all."

"Ms Stevens," I say. "Your daughter wanted us to give you a message."

That's when Sterling begins whispering in my ear.

"She wanted you to know she never hated you for giving her up," I repeat the words the ghost tells me. "That she understands and feels no resentment." I pause to listen carefully as Sterling relays her message to me. "She wanted you to know that she had a good life."

For a while, Leanna just stares at us with a complete lack of emotion. At first, Sammy and I can't tell if she even heard anything I said. Or if she cared to hear it at all.

"You know," she says at last, extinguishing her cigarette in a glass ashtray. "Not a day goes by where I don't think about her. I always visualized her as a baby, it's kind of hard to picture her all grown up. Or just being old enough to drive a car." Pause. "You got any pictures of her?"

"No," I shake my head sadly.

"What did she look like?" Leanna wants to know and I give her a small smile.

"She was beautiful," I say. "She had your eyes."

Leanna smiles.

"What was she like?" she wants to know more about her flesh and blood.

"She was a good person," I reply. "Smart. Kind. Funny. Strong."

"Good," Leanna says. "What did she do?"

"She was a freelance travel photographer," Sammy responds, which isn't exactly a lie. Sterling did sell pictures as a source of income. And she obviously did a lot of traveling. Leanna just doesn't need to know about what Sterling really did. It doesn't matter anymore.

"Did she like it?" Leanna asks. "Her job?"

"She loved it," I solemnly say and Leanna smiles again.

"Good for her," she says. "I always wanted to travel myself. Never made it all that far."

"Is there anything that you maybe wanted to say to her?" Sammy asks. "You know, if she was here right now. Was there anything you might want her to know?"

"Yeah," Leanna nods. "Actually, there is. I'd want her to know she wasn't unwanted. I didn't abandon her. I just wanted her to have a good life an' I knew that wasn't gonna be with me. It was a hard decision and it wasn't easy to give her up . But it sounds like I made the right decision. Thank you boys for letting me know. I appreciate it. I'm sorry I outlived her but it puts my mind at ease knowing she at least had a good life."

We say our goodbyes to the woman and slowly stroll back out to the heap parked in the street.

"That was kind of sweet," Sammy comments as we slide back into the car.

"Yeah," I agree. "She didn't sound too dim for an addict."

"You know," Sammy says and I know I'm about to receive a fact. "Intelligent people are more likely to become chemically dependent."

"So... I'm smarter than you?" I ask with a small grin and Sammy lets out a soft, short laugh.

"Are you admitting you might have a problem with alcohol?" he asks.

"Pssh," I hiss. "The only problem I have with alcohol is that I'm not drinking any right now."

Sam rolls his eyes but gives a small smile at the joke.

"Hey, you think it worked?" he asks me as he glances around the car. "I don't see her."

"Afraid not," Sterling appears in the back seat with a sorrowful look plastered across her face. "But I guess I'm glad I did that." Pause. "I still can't believe I'm related to that woman."

"I'm sure there are worse places to come from," Sammy tries to encourage the ghost.

"What else you got?" I ask, turning the key in the ignition. "Did you really make amends with your dad before he passed?"

"Yes," Sterling solemnly nods before her face gradually sinks into hesitation.

"What is it?" I ask, knowing she's thought of something she's uncertain she wants to share.

"Um, nothing," she shakes her head, unwilling to share what's on her mind.

"Yeah, that doesn't sound like nothing," I observe. "What's up?"

"It's probably nothing," Sterling slowly begins, still reluctant to reveal the plan she already wants to avoid. "I was just thinking about how I haven't been to the house since it burned down."

She doesn't have to elaborate what house she's talking about. The place where her interest in the supernatural was first sparked. The place her mom, the one who raised her, died.

"Really?" I kind of feel surprised by this. I guess I assumed that, once Sterling had discovered the things she studied were real, she would have gone back there to see if the poltergeist was still there.

"Like I said, it's probably nothing," she brushes her comment away, attempting to keep the nervousness out of her tone by forcing a casual breath. "Random fact about me, I guess."

"Wait," Sammy says, not as eager to dismiss this as Sterling is. "If you've never gone back... You never got to say goodbye to your mom, did you?"

Slowly and somberly, Sterling shakes her head no.

"It's worth a shot, don't you think?" Sam goes on and we both know he's right. But Sterling still seems hesitant about it.

"What?" Sammy asks, easily picking up on this.

"It's just... I don't know," Sterling fumbles, almost embarrassed about what she's about to reveal. "I mean, she's been gone for a while, you know? And I know that. But for all these years, I've had a hard time actually letting her go."

I know how she feels.

"That's stupid, right?" she asks.

Not really. Maybe.

"Sterling," my brother gently says. "Maybe that's what's keeping you here."

I let out a small sigh. He's right. It probably is what's keeping her here. Which means we have three more states to go before she can move on.

I glance at Sterling who remains silent. She knows he's right. And she wants to move on, but she doesn't want to let go.

Slowly I pull the car back onto the street, steering it north bound.

"Michigan it is," I say.

Three states. Less than twenty four hours. Ready or not, I have to let her go.


	15. You're An Asshole, Dean Winchester

**Sorry for the slow updates recently. I participated in GISHWHES last week. A little time consuming but amazing! If you haven't done it yet, try it next year. Anyway, on with the story...**

**2003**

For a few months I avoided her. She didn't even remotely begin to return the feelings I kept for her. That's not what bothered me. What bothered me the most was that she was seeing someone else.

She attempted contact with me several times and I ignored every call she made. I left every message she left unchecked and I returned zero of her calls. I even avoided the calls dad would put in when he got wind of my behavior.

That was another thing that bothered me, the relationship my dad and Sterling shared. Even if she was with someone, I didn't like thinking about my friend, the woman I was in love with, hanging out with my dad.

This wasn't a high point in my life. I'm not proud of it, and I know I was being dramatic. And a really awful friend.

When I did finally see her again, it was at random in a hole in the wall bar down town Hazleton, Pennsylvania. I was there on a potential case which she too had picked up on. But she wasn't at the bar to gather information or celebrate a job well done. When I made eye contact, she had this devastated look on her face.

Despite her remorseful disposition, I attempted to flee. I didn't try to see what was up or even offer a hello. I kept on track with my "being a shitty friend" train and walked back out onto the street.

She didn't chase me down. But she was a hunter and a close friend. She knew how to find me and that's exactly what she did later that evening.

She came to me at my motel room, alone and near tears. When I saw her standing in the doorway, I didn't know what to say. I debated just closing it and avoiding the situation all together, but she stopped me before I could.

"Can I come in?" she asked with a crack in her voice.

Part of me hoped her boyfriend had broken up with her. Hell, part me hoped her boyfriend had gotten his heart ripped out by a friggin' werewolf. It was the only reason I could think of why she might be this upset.

"Look, I really need someone right now," she told me when I didn't move to let her inside.

"Yeah?" I spit. "Where's your boyfriend?"

"He's working in California," she stated and I rolled my eyes.

Anger flashed across her face, temporarily replacing the sorrow she felt as her cheeks flushed with rage.

"You know what?" Sterling spit. "Fuck you, Dean."

"Me?" I frowned at her outburst. "What did I do?"

"You've been a little shit ever since you found out I'm with someone," she returned, balling her fingers into hard fists as she spoke. "In case you forgot, you're the one who came onto me."

I hadn't forgotten.

"I thought we were friends," she went on. "And I know you wish it were more than that, but I can't help the way I feel. If you were really a friend, you'd let it go and be happy that I'm fucking happy."

"You don't look so happy right now," I argued, not yet willing to actually admit what a crappy friend I was being.

"That's because my dad just fucking died," she yelled, her voice cracking as she shared the news.

Which is when I really started to feel like a dick.

"You know what, fuck this," she muttered angrily as a single tear unleashed itself from her right eye and slid down her hot cheek. "Clearly you've decided this whole thing is either all of me or none of me. You've chosen none of me. Have a nice fucking life. Asshole."

I did feel like an asshole. But I guess I needed to hear all of that. It put into perspective what I really had been doing. Right then and there I realized I should be happy for her. That I should be happy that I can call her my friend, even if I wanted more. Because having her as my friend was a hell of a lot better than not having her at all. Or worse, as an enemy.

"Sterling, wait!" I called as she turned away to leave. "I'm sorry."

She paused, slowly looking back at me to determine my sincerity.

"You're right," I told her. "I have been a shitty friend. And I'm sorry. I'm an asshole." I paused to stand aside. "Please come in."

For a moment she stared hesitantly at me. She was beyond pissed at me and entering my room was now the last thing she wanted to do. But, after a minuet, she accepted my offer.

"I'm sorry to hear about your dad," I told her as I closed the door behind her. "What happened?"

"Stroke," she gave me the single worded scenario as she furiously wiped the tears from her eyes. "He died earlier this afternoon."

"I'm sorry," I said again.

"It's not your fault," she said with a cool tone, still upset with me. "The funeral is in a few days."

"So you'll be going back to Michigan then?" I asked and she just nodded. "Do you... Do you want me to come with you?"

"I don't know, Dean," she spoke through clenched teeth and I wasn't sure what emotion she was trying to repress from surging out. "Are you going to make a move on me again? Or avoid me the whole time? Or get pissed that I'm with someone else?"

I sighed.

"I'm so sorry, Sterling," I told her. "I feel like a jackass, I really do. And I can't take back the last three months. But I can try to make it right. I'd rather have you as a friend than not have you at all."

She gazed at me with a skeptical look, uncertain if she believed me.

"Please, Sterling," I begged for her forgiveness. "Let me make this up to you."

She took in a deep breath as I stared hopefully at her.

"Okay," she said at last and accepted the embrace I peacefully offered her. "You don't have to come to Michigan with me. There's still a ghost in town."

"I'd like to," I told her as I slowly let her go. "And I think we can take care of the spirit problem before we go. We do work pretty fast as a team."

She gave me a small smile as she continued to wipe the tears that escaped her eyes.

"Friends?" I asked hopefully and she nodded.

"For life," she replied.

I don't think there would ever be a time where I wouldn't want more with her. But almost loosing her completely scared the crap out of me. And I wasn't lying when I told her I'd rather be friends than nothing. She was already my only friend and an amazing one at that. I could live with platonic. Living without her entirely would have been much, much harder.


	16. Moving On

**2006**

We drive in silence down a dirt road that cuts through a thick forest of oak and maple trees. Being here brings back all those memories from when we first met. I guess it's kind of fitting that it's here I have to finally let go.

The forest gives way to a clearing of tall growing grass and a miniature orchard of ancient looking fruit trees. The road leads us to a pile of charred rubble, the remains of Sterling's childhood home.

"Is this it?" Sammy breaks the silence as we slowly approach.

"Yeah," Sterling's eyes are locked on what lies at the end of the road. I know she sees something different than Sammy and I do. What Sterling sees is a two level home and a garden. She sees her mother and father walking through the orchard together. She sees her family together for the first time in 17 years. But, above all, she sees the fire that tore it all apart.

I realize, as I bring the Oldsmobile to a stop beside the rubble, why Sterling had always hunted with an intense interest and loved every minuet of it. Everything she hunted, everything she killed, she did it for her mom. She couldn't possibly begin to locate the actual poltergeist that took her mom away from her, so she's hunted everything she could to prevent the same ill fate from falling upon anyone else. Every time she killed something, she was trying to kill that terrible night.

That's my theory, anyway. Who could really know? Maybe Sterling would have turned out the same way if a poltergeist hadn't burned down their house and if her mom didn't die. Maybe she was just built to hunt.

The three of us get out of the car and stare at the ruins that lay at our feet.

"Listen," Sterling slowly begins, her eyes squinting under the midday sun as she gazes at us. "Thanks for all your help. I really appreciate it. You guys are awesome."

"It's what we do," Sam says with a modest shrug. "I'm just glad we could help."

"You really think this is going to work?" I ask and she shrugs.

"I think it's the best shot I've had in months," she admits. She pauses to give me a fond but sad smile. "You take care of yourself, Dean."

"I'll try," I return. "I'm going to miss you."

"I'll miss you, too," she says. "I'll see you on the other side. But not too soon, you got that? I don't want to have to kick your soul's ass in Valhalla."

She gives me one last smile before slowly turning to face the remains of the house. Her feet carry her into the center of it all where she silently stands for a few minuets, absorbing it all that it means to her.

"You gonna be okay?" Sam quietly asks as I watch her. I sigh but I don't respond.

"Are you guys seeing this?" Sterling calls to us.

We look, but Sammy and I see nothing.

"There's someone here... Mom?"

To Sam and me, all we see is burned wood and blackened brick. The way Sterling stares at the calm breeze in front of her, we know she's not alone. All these years she's avoided coming here, someone's been waiting. The very person she thought moved on 17 years ago.

We watch as Sterling talks with the woman we can't see, their conversation too soft to hear, save for a few choice words from the only visible ghost. From what we can make out, Sterling's mom, the late Mrs Powers, has no idea she's been dead for nearly two decades. She doesn't even seem to realize the house she used to live in no longer exists.

"It's a good thing we came up here," Sammy comments as Sterling gently tries to make her mother aware of everything. I don't say anything as I take in the final moments of Sterling's earthly existence.

"You do realize she has to go, right?" Sam asks and I sigh, but I don't tear my eyes away from her.

"Yeah," I say in a voice barely above a whisper.

"You need to let her," he tells me.

"Yeah," I say again, swallowing hard past the lump that grows in my throat. "I know."

I still don't want to, but it's time. There's some afterlife with her name on it just waiting for her. I can't keep hoping she won't go anywhere. It's time for me to be the friend she needs.

I release a long, hard breath as I close my eyes. And I let go. I accept her fate and count myself lucky I got to spend some time with her after her death. I find myself thankful I got to make my peace with her and even more so that I got to call her my friend. It didn't last as long as it should have, but any time with her was a lot better than none. And whenever I miss her, I can always visit her in the memories we made.

Suddenly there comes a brilliantly bright, almost white light that reaches out from the horizons towards Sterling. She stares longingly at it as it approaches her, excited she's finally about to leave the world behind. Excited, but nervous.

As it gets closer and closer to us, the light intensifies in brightness until it's almost blinding. It engulfs Sterling who accepts its warm embrace with a small smile on her lips. I watch as she closes her eyes, takes in a deep breath, whispers goodbye to her mom. I watch her until the light illuminates so brightly that I have to turn away.

When at last the light recedes, Sammy and I turn to face the rubble. To our surprise, Sterling still stands right where she was. We can see her chest heave with a heavy breath before she takes a forcible seat on a pile of debris. She sits with a deflated hunch for a moment before she starts sobbing into her hands.

Sammy and I slowly approach her, uncertain of what to say first. I quietly take a seat beside her as Sammy stands just to her right.

"I give up," Sterling cries and it's heartbreaking to see her this way. "I don't know what's left to do. I'm stuck here forever."

"What... what was that light?" I have to ask.

"That was my mom moving on," Sterling speaks, her voice echoing against the palms she speaks into.

I let out a sigh. She was so close, yet so far off. I thought for sure this was it for her.

Sam gets that "wait a minuet, I think I've got it" look as he stares at Sterling's weeping figure.

"Sterling," he begins, his face laced with a thoughtful expression. "Are you... are you sure you're dead?"

Sterling's head snaps up at my younger brother. She glares at him for a moment, almost certain he's mocking her. If she wasn't a ghost, her cheeks would be turning red and she would be wiping tears from her face. But she is and her face is neither tear soaked or red as she angrily stares at Sam.

With a quick fist, she punches Sammy in the shin. But her fist doesn't make contact. Instead her hand goes through my brother's leg before she pulls her arm back.

"You see anyone living do that?" she asked.

"Well, no," Sam admits, attempting to stifle the shudder he wants to release at the sensation of a ghost hand reaching through him. "What happened that night? The night you supposedly died?"

"I already told you," Sterling says, her eyes settling on the tree dotted horizon as she speaks. "I was driving way too fast, I lost focus of the road for five friggin' seconds which was when a drunk asshole hit me with his oil truck. And then I woke up dead on the side of the road."

"What did you see when you woke up?" Sam fishes for details and Sterling rolls her eyes.

"Didn't I already tell you?" she asks with a frustrated voice. "A clean up crew and the local news crew. That and the ghost of the asshole who hit me, who remembered his fifth shot of Jager before he woke up dead too."

"But you didn't see any bodies?" Sammy half asks, half suggests.

"Well, no," Sterling slowly admits. "The firemen only found one..." She trails off for a second. "You're suggesting I'm actually laying in some hospital in Montana and having the strongest out of body experience that ever existed?"

Sammy shrugs.

"I mean, it would kind of explain why you're not tied to anything," Sam explains. "You've got a fairly open mind and you're pretty smart. I bet you were able to come this far away from your own body because you told yourself you could."

Sterling thinks about this theory with great interest. She's spent the last three plus months thinking she's dead and trying to move on. And now there's a chance she might be alive.

"How could I be alive?" Sterling wants Sammy to explain. "How would I have gotten to a hospital?"

"I don't know," Sam admits there's a hole in his theory, but seems sure of himself none the less. "Maybe there was a passenger in that oil truck who walked out alive and took you with him, or some bystander who couldn't wait for an ambulance to show up."

My heart skips a beat as Sam elaborates his idea. It's exciting to think about, and that's putting it mildly. The friend I finally let go of might still be alive.

"What town were you near when the accident happened?" I question as I reach for the phone in my jacket pocket.

"Just west of Shelby," Sterling replies as I dial information.

"Hello, information?" I say when my call goes through. "I need every number of every hospital in a fifty mile radius of Shelby, Montana."


	17. Jane Doe

**2006**

I've always had what you'd call a lead foot. Even if I don't have a destination, I like to get there fast. So imagine how fast I drive when we discover a comatose Jane Doe is at the hospital in Shelby.

We reach the small city near sun down. Sterling goes invisible as Sammy and I race into the hospital.

"I'm sorry," the nurse attendant tells us when we approach. "Visiting hours are over for the day. You'll have to come back tomorrow."

"You have to help us," I insist with an urgent tone. "Our cousin has been missing for three months. We think she might be here."

The nurse studies us with a hesitant look. Finding out desperation to be true, her face folds into understanding and she sighs.

"Was your cousin admitted here?" she questions as she turns to the computer monitor at the desk.

"Sort of," Sammy replies. "If she is, her name is listed as Jane Doe."

The nurse turns her head back to us and we can see the look of relief in her eyes. She knows exactly who we're talking about.

"There was an unidentified woman who was brought in a little over three months ago," she tells us, rising from her chair. "Follow me."

She doesn't have to tell us twice. The nurse leads us down long corridors, up an elevator and to the third floor. We follow her down another hall where she pauses at a closed door marked 304 B.

"I don't normally do this," she tells us. "But we've been waiting for someone to claim her for a while."

Slowly she opens the door and I rush inside the dimly lit room. A young woman with black and blonde hair lies still on the only bed with her eyes closed. A blue tube hangs from her lips to assist her breath as a wire connected to her finger provokes another machine to beep steadily.

I'm so overjoyed to see her, I want to cry.

"Is this your cousin?" the nurse questions from the doorway.

"Yes," Sammy replies when I can't find the words to speak. "This is her."

The nurse gives off a long sigh of relief.

"What... what's wrong with her?" I choke. "How did she get here?"

"We're... Um... We're a little unsure how she came here or what happened to her," the nurse admits. "We found her on the emergency room floor. She sustained a severe head injury, several broken ribs, a broken leg, a fractured wrist, a collapsed lung and had numerous lacerations around her face, neck and arms." She pauses. "If we didn't know any better, we'd say she was thrown through a windshield."

"And she just magically showed up in the ER?" Sammy wants to put the whole puzzle together.

"When we reviewed the surveillance video, we noticed thirty seconds of interference before she showed up. So, if you believe in magic or miracles, then yes." She pauses to let us take in the comatose body that belongs to the ghost we've been traveling with. "All of her breaks have had sufficient time to heal. Obviously the scrapes and cuts have disappeared entirely. Miraculously, the inflammation in her brain has reduced tremendously and there are positive signs of brain activity. Her lung is still mending, but other than that she seems to be doing okay. She just won't wake up."

"Can you... Can you give us a minuet?" I ask, my eyes unable to leave Sterling's sleeping body.

"Of course," the nurse willingly agrees. "If I could just get her name and any insurance information...?"

Sterling whispers to me the information I supply the nurse with.

"Take your time, gentlemen," she kindly says once she's taken down enough of Sterling's information. "I'll let the other nurses know you're here so you don't surprise them when they make their rounds."

We thank her before she closes the door to leave us with the sleeping body.

"This is so weird," Sterling materializes once the door is tightly shut and the room becomes private. She stares at her own body with a concerned but relieved air.

"I still don't get how I got here," she says, blinking down at her figure. "But right now I'm not sure I care." She pauses to give Sammy a grateful glance. "Thank you, Sam. Maybe you're the one they should be calling Professor."

"Naw," Sammy says with a sheepish smile. "You're still the expert. I just get good ideas every once in a while."

Sterling smiles at him before glancing over at me.

"Looks like I'm gonna be hitting the road again soon," she says with a giddy breath.

"Yeah," I say, trying to contain my own excitement. "Not too soon, though. Make sure you're patched up before you go looking for monsters. I don't want to attend your funeral twice in one year."

"Fair enough," she agrees before looking back down at herself again. "So... what do I do? Do I just hop back in or something?"

"I guess," Sam shrugs. When she looks to me, all I can do is shrug.

"Hey, Sterling," I say before she can attempt to put herself back together. "I'll see you on the other side."

She gives me a wide grin. This time, the other side is the waking world. And she gets to be a part of it again.

For a moment, Sterling simply stares at herself, determining how she's supposed to put her ghost back into its vessel. For a second it looks like she's going to literally jump into herself. Instead, she gently reaches out and grasps her own hand.

Her ghost slowly begins to fade as it appears to be sucked back into the body still lying on the bed. I hold my breath as we watch the two Sterlings become one.

A pair of azure eyes snap open as fingers try to remove the solid blue tube that hangs from her lips. She gags a little and, despite her temporary discomfort, I can't help the smile that spreads across my lips.

Sammy rushes to the door and pulls it open.

"Nurse!" he calls. "We need a nurse in here!"

Sterling locks her sleepy eyes upon mine as a couple of nurses and a doctor rush in to remove the artificial breath for the woman who can finally breathe on her own.

"I can't believe it," the doctor mutters with a mystified breath. "We didn't think she'd ever wake up."

"Is she going to be alright?" Sam asks.

"Now that she's conscious," the doctor says. "She should be able to make a full recovery."

I gently place a hand in Sterling's and give it a loving squeeze. Though her limbs are still weakened, she musters all the strength she can gather to squeeze back.

"Thank you," she chokes the whispered words from her tightened throat as a single tear slips down the side of her head and onto the pillow beneath her head.

"What are friends for?" I say before giving her an affectionate kiss on the forehead.

I may have mentioned this before, but I'll say it again. I'll always want something more with Sterling. But I'd rather have her as a friend than have nothing at all. I'm thankful as hell she's been a part of my life and even more so that she gets to stay. That I didn't really have to let her go.

I don't know who to thank for this one, but to the mysterious stranger who brought her here; thanks for making sure she could stay a part of the waking world. If I ever meet you, I hope I can repay you. I don't have a lot of money, but if you're half as nice as her, well, I just might make you the second friend I've ever had.


	18. Epilogue

**Epilogue**

I watch this all closely with a curious interest. All of it. I've been miles away, but I've seen everything. Witnessed their every move since she found them up until now when they at last learned how to reunite her soul with her body.

"What are you doing here?"

The voice speaks to me unannounced, but I lack surprise by its presence.

"You know we're not supposed to medal in human affairs," the voice informs me. "Not yet."

"I am aware, Zachariah," I inform him, my eyes remaining fastened upon the two friends who fondly hold hands.

"Then what are you doing here, Castiel?" the angel asks again. "Why did you save that woman's life?"

"Dean Winchester has lost enough already," I state honestly. "I simply did not wish to see him suffer further."

"We're not supposed to interfere," he reminds me again.

"I did not interfere," I reply calmly. "I simply pulled her from the wreckage. The rest they did on their own."

"But _WHY_?" Zachariah doesn't understand why I refused to let the huntress experience death. "Don't tell me you actually care for these mudfish."

To this I have no response. I don't know why I care for the man I've been charged to look after. I've cared so little for humans and their petty affairs since their dawn. Why him? Why now?

"Please," I say at last. "Allow him this single moment. Allow Dean Winchester this brief glimpse of relief. We both know the horrors he will have to endure soon enough."

Zachariah silently ponders my plea.

"I do not understand why you seem to care," he says at last. "But as long as you come home with me and vow to remain there until it is time, I will allow this."

"Thank you," I express my gratitude.

"From now on, you will do as you're told," Zachariah orders as I take a final look at the mortals who happily embrace their life.

"Yes," I nod. "I will."


End file.
